


Kindling to My Flames

by wusane



Series: Fire Burns Brighter in the Dark-A Hunger Game/MCYT Series [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Dark Past, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mature for violence, No Smut, Slow Burn, Swearing, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27263677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wusane/pseuds/wusane
Summary: After getting thrown into the 98th Hunger Games, George doesn't expect to make it out alive. Bound by a promise he intends to fulfill, he is prepared to fight to his last breath and then die. That was until he meets the tribute from District 7.Now that he has more to fight for, George needs to make up his mind and decide who will be the one to leave this arena alive. However, an opportunity presents itself, giving him a chance to save everyone from the fist of the Capital. But only if he is willing to become the kindling that would start an inferno to burn away the darkness.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu/Wilbur Soot
Series: Fire Burns Brighter in the Dark-A Hunger Game/MCYT Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990678
Comments: 111
Kudos: 174





	1. Reap from the Shadows

The first rays of dawn settled over the gray buildings of District 3's slum neighborhood, the light crawling up the crumbling stone and thick vines, tinting them a bright yellow. 

Usually, at dawn, the majority of the residents would be streaming into the streets on their way to the factories for their shifts. Today though, an eerie silence filled the streets, not a soul in sight. 

On the third floor of one of the buildings, George sat at his kitchen table, watching the clock with acid roiling in his stomach. Through the thin walls, he could hear his neighbors talking in hushed tones, occasionally punctuated by a quiet sob. 

Swallowing the dry feeling in his throat, George pulled out his cracked phone and, looking through his messages to distract himself from thinking about what was going to happen in the next hour. 

ignoring most of the messages which were for business, he focused on the one from his best friend and partner in crime. 

WILBUR(6:37): U up?

Quickly, he typed out a response:

GEORGE(7:15): I'm up

WILBUR(7:18): Wanna come over?

GEORGE(7:18): Yea, I kinda need to. Be there in 5.

WILBUR(7:19): Door's open just come in. 

Pocketing his phone, he left his single room apartment and quickly made his way out the door and down the stairs, trying to tune out the distressed whispers behind the doors. After leaving his building, he slipped into the many dark alleyways, following the mental path to his destination. As he traveled, his brain did the familiar exercise it did whenever he was stressed and began to map out the course of the coming future. 

In another hour or so, he would be standing with the other 18-year-old boys in the town square, facing his last and final Reaping. in other words, in another hour or so, he would receive his verdict on whether his life would end at the age of eighteen or not. 

George had no illusion that he would ever set foot in his district ever again if he was chosen. While he was reasonably nourished, he was also skinny, a trait that came with sitting in front of a computer, rewriting codes all day. And even if he was jacked as hell, he didn't think he could bring himself to look at another person and be the one to end their life. 

Just the thought of committing such an act made him feel nauseated and he had to stop and lean against the stone wall for a few moments to catch his breath. Shaking off the feeling, he shoved his hands into his pocket and walked faster through the alley. 

Reaching Wilbur's apartment complex, George quickly climbed up the stairs and walked down the hallway on the second floor, stopping in front of the door labeled 2C. 

Turning the doorknob slowly, George opened the creaky door and walked inside, closing and locking it behind him. A brown-haired 19-year-old man stood in the tiny hallway that leads to the kitchen, leaning against the wall. 

"Hey," George muttered in greeting. The tense atmosphere hovering over everything seemed to demand silence. 

"I've been up with Niki for about an hour," Wilbur replied. They walked into the kitchen where a blonde girl was sitting at the table, knees drawn to her chest. 

She looked up as George entered, giving a weak smile. Niki stood up from her chair and gave George a small embrace. "Hi, George."

George returned the hug perfunctorily. He released Niki after a few seconds and took in her splotchy face and tangled hair. "Hey, Niki." He felt a pang of guilt for never taking the time to think about how she was holding up. After all, this was also her last Reaping. 

The trio sat down, George occupying Niki's vacant chair while Niki curled up next to Wilbur on the small sofa. 

"So," Wilbur starts, interlacing his fingers with Niki's. "This is it. The final hurdle." George and Niki nodded mutely, both of them too strained to make words.

"And both of you've taken tesserae before." Again, both of them nodded. 

"I took it four times," Niki said in a faint voice. 

"Five times for me," George added, his voice cracking slightly. He wiped a hand across his face, trying to clear his thoughts. "So I'll have twelve slips in there. Twelve chances of winning the ultimate price." He gave a slightly crazed laugh. 

"George..." Niki said sadly. Wilbur leaned forward and took one of George's hand in a death grip. 

"We're going to get through this," Wilbur said furiously, his knuckles losing color. "We're going to get through this and once it's over, I'm going to buy the most expensive cake in town and we're going to goddamn feast."

It was something that Wilbur couldn't promise but George appreciated the man's words. He met Wilbur's unfaltering eyes and gave a strained smile. "Well if there's cake on the line, I guess I don't have a choice." 

It was a weak attempt at a joke but Wilbur gave a smile anyway. 

"How's your family?" George asked, looking at Niki. 

"They're fine," Niki answered, not looking at him directly. "I was with them last night."

"That's good." The three of them fell into silence, watching the clock tick by, each tick matching George's heartbeat. 

All too soon, their hour of peace was up, and as if by a collective will, the complex was filled with the sound of chairs scraping back and the creaking of old floorboards as everyone left their rooms and began the trek toward the town square. 

George also stood, and waited by the door as Niki washed away the remains of tears and fixed her hair. Together they joined the crowd streaming into the streets.

Following the river of people, they stuck together until they reached the square and stopped at a checkpoint, where peacekeepers identified them. As they entered the square, Wilbur took him and Niki into a right hug, not saying anything. George understood anyway and with his head raised, he joined the other eighteen-year-old in their pen. 

Everything seemed to move in a blur around him as more and more people joined the square and more kids entered the fenced-off area. Not acknowledging anyone, George took the time to look around the square instead, taking it all in. Storefronts displaying meat, electronics, cake, all detailing a comfortable life, and yet not even their children were spared from the Reaping. 

When people stopped trickling into the square, the mayor stood up, followed by the Capital representative and the last surviving victor of District 3, the others dead of old age or drug overdoses.

Philza was a hefty blonde man, whose eyes were usually twinkling with amusement or kindness, though right now the eyes were grim as they swept throughout the crowd. He looked over the assembled children and George was close enough to see the stony set of his face. 

As the mayor began the dull speech about the creation of Panem and the Capital's victory over the rebels almost a century ago, George didn't even bother to take it in at all. Instead, he examines the Capital representative. 

By Capital standards, this man looked relatively normal, especially compared to the previous one who looked like the demonic clowns that George saw from the movies he pirated. The man had bright orange hair with little tuffs of the hair shaped like pointed ears and a pale angular face with an orange goatee. The only thing that looked remotely engineered was his eyes, which were brown and too animalistic to be natural. As George watched, the man's gaze swiveled to his for a split second. 

After fifteen more minutes of the mind-numbing speech, the mayor stepped back, allowing the Capital official to step up to the microphone, causing the queasy feeling in George's stomach to intensify violently.

"Morning, fine people of District 3," the man said in a smooth Capital accent. "My name is Fundy and I will be the one representing and guiding the tributes from your lovely district from now on." He paused for a second and then continued, saying the words that George had been dreading all week. "And now without further ado, we will now begin the selection for the 98th Hunger Games." Fundy leaned closer to the mike, giving a feral smile that showed his sharp canines. 

"May the odds be ever in your favor." 


	2. Weight of Promises

Slowly and dramatically, Fundy made his way to the crystal ball containing the names of all the potential male tribute. Of the thousands upon thousands of slips in the sphere, twelve of them contained George's name. As a hand slipped into the ball, he could feel his body trembling and the queasiness in his stomach was threatening to reappear through his mouth. 

For what seemed like an eternity, the hand clawed around the inside of the ball, sifting through the names into the center of the pile. Finally, the hand was withdrawn clutching a single piece of paper. The crowd took in a combined breath, taut with tension and fear. With a flourish, Fundy unfurled the paper and, as George's heartbeat accelerated several notches, he read the written name in a clear echoing voice. 

"Toby Smith." 

An involuntary breath of relief left his throat, an action echoed by the other boys around George at the fact that they were spared forever. There was shuffling among the twelve-year-olds and unhappy mutters rang out, though they were carefully kept low and unintelligible.

A diminutive brown-haired boy stumbled up the path toward the stage, his face deathly white and lips trembling. George's breath caught in his breath as the boy walked by him. The child was thinner and taller than the last time George saw him but the face was instantly recognizable. A memory of a dark alley slippery with rain and the metal taste of blood in his mouth and the air forced its way to the surface, the scars on George's back pulsing in response. 

Guilt and shock raced through his mind as his grip tightened around the rope barrier. there was absolutely no way this boy would survive. Someone who couldn't even leave a stranger to die in front of him wouldn't survive a minute in the Games. George knew what would be the right thing to do but his body wouldn't respond, wouldn't say the words that would save this child, wouldn't even take a single step forward. 

"NO!!" The cry tore through the square and heads whipped to the source. Another familiar face emerged amongst the twelve-year-olds and the boy shoved his way through the crowd, ducking under the rope barrier. "Tubbo, no!" The blonde boy ran up to the other boy and grabbed him by the wrist, pushing the first boy behind him. "I volunt-!"

"Tommy, stop!" The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the brown-haired boy hysterical yell. "You can't do this!" He yanked the blonde boy back until they were both leveled.

"Tubbo, shut up!" The two struggled, each trying to push the other behind him while the crowd watched in stunned silence though that would be over soon. In a few seconds. Peacekeepers would descend, separating the two and taking one of them into the Games.

Ignoring his protesting mind, George stepped forward bypassing the barrier, placing himself beyond the crowd, ignoring their gasps. Before he could stop himself, his mouth uttered the words he thought he would never say. 

"I volunteer as tribute." 

Complete silence filled the square. Every person was staring at him, including the two boys. He walked over to stand in front of them and faced the stage. 

"I volunteer as tribute for District 3," he repeated, staring right into the eyes of the orange-haired man. The narrowed brown eyes bored into his own, the expression shrewd and calculating.

For a heartbeat, the man didn't respond. "Well, this is certainly interesting," he said in the end. "Come on up so we can introduce you."

George moved to mount the stage, beginning to feel the first painful twinges of panic. Every step felt like weights were attached to his legs and bile sloshed around in his stomach. He took a deep, invisible breath. He was committed now and he couldn't, wouldn't turn back. Which also meant he couldn't afford to show weakness. 

Before he could reach the stage, a cold small hand enclosed his wrist. 

"Don't do this." He turned to find the boy called Tubbo holding him back. Tears were streaming down his face and the pain that was visible in his eyes was heartbreaking. "You don't have to do this. I can go." 

"Someone, get him out of here." Fundy's drawling bored voice came floating down from the stage and George felt a stab of anger and hatred toward him, toward the Capital for they surely were enjoying this display, delighting in the fact that they had orchestrated this misery and grief. "We're on a tight schedule here and we've already wasted enough time as it is." 

Two Peacekeepers detached themselves from their stations and took Tubbo by the arm, hauling him back into the crowd. The blonde boy steadied him as he stumbled and they both turn to watch the stage with wide eyes. 

George reached the top of the stage, standing in front of Fundy. Closer to him, the ears on his head looked a lot more real, and his eyes more predatory and unnatural. He suppressed a shiver as the man placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"Well, what's your name?" Fundy asked. 

"George Davidson," he replied, through numb lips. Every camera in the square was pointed toward him and he tried to school his expression into indifference. though he couldn't tell if he succeeded or not. 

"Couldn't let a little kid steal all the glory, am I right?" While the man's voice was jovial and cheerful, his eyes were sharp and seemed to strip him bare. Without waiting for a response, Fundy gestured to the crowd. "Well, let's hear it for George Davidson, District 3!" 

To George's surprise, the square remained silent, a rare and potentially deadly act of disobedience. Instead, starting with a man in the middle of the crowd and spreading to the others, the crowd tapped their right fists against their heart and then raised it to the sky. It was a gesture that said, "Go on and fight for our hearts go with you. Rest assured that all will be repaid." A gesture that spoke of loyalty and allegiance but also of vengeance and retribution.

Warmth warred against cold dread inside him. He was touched by this gesture of faith and conviction but there was no way that the Capital would allow such a public display of rebellion to go unpunished. They would suffer for this one way or another. 

"Cute," the man at his side said. Fundy was watching the spectacle with an unreadable expression on his face. "Well, let's keep the ball rolling. Time to pick our girl tribute!" That said, he bound over to the second crystal ball, and after rooting for a couple of seconds, withdrew the second slip of paper. 

Still reeling from the weight of his District's solemn promise, George almost missed the name of the person who would be one of his competitors. He wished he had, though. 

"Nikita Nihachu." 

George's stomach dropped and he almost fell right over on the stage. There was no way. How was his luck so terrible? His disbelief turned into paralyzing grief as he saw Niki detach yourself from the crowd, her shocked and ashen face matching his own.

He spotted Wilbur's face among the crowd and the look of despair on the man's face was terrible. The people at his side seemed to be restraining him from jumping over the barrier. Silently, George thanked them. if Wilbur did anything drastic right now, he would be arrested if he was lucky, executed if he wasn't. 

And none of their luck seemed very dependable right now. 

Niki climbed up the stage next to him, her eyes betraying the emotions that she was clearly fighting to keep from her face. George wanted so badly to tell her it was going to be okay but his mouth wouldn't form the words nor did he believe them himself. 

Time seemed to move by in a blur as Fundy was saying something. George didn't bother to listen. He already knew what he had to do. And seeing Niki's face and feeling her cold hand in his own as they shook them only strengthen his resolve. 

He wouldn't be coming back home. 

\----|}{|---- 

The Peacekeepers came shortly afterward to escort them into the Justice Buildings for the final farewells.

George sat in the soft chair, his hands clasped in front of him, running through his head what he would tell Wilbur when the man would inevitably come. 

A couple of minutes later, the door clicked open and the brown-haired man raced in, a distraught expression on his face. His mouth was opened to say something but George immediately stopped him. 

"Wilbur, shut up." George knew what Wilbur wanted to ask and it would kill him to say it. He couldn't let his best friend be forced to chose who had to be sacrificed. "I promise I'll get Niki out alive. I'll protect her and get her back home," he said, taking the taller man by the shoulders. When Wilbur tried to protest, George cut him off again. "No, shut up. I've already decided and nothing you say is going to change my mind." 

"This wasn't how it supposed to go," Wilbur whispered, voice taut with grief. "I wasn't supposed to lose either of you today. Not my best friend or the girl I love. I promised you it would be okay." 

"We all know it was something you couldn't control so stop blaming yourself," George said firmly. "I promise you won't lose both of us. One of us will come back." He took his phone out of his pocket and pressed it into Wilbur's hands. "Take this. It'll have a list of all my customers and what they want. Most of them only need the basic stuff that you can do but if anything too complicated comes up, I left instructions. And my final message will be in it. The passcode's 4410." He was talking faster now, trying to say everything he needed to say. He was certain that if Wilbur said anything right now, his effort to remain tearless would be for nothing. 

Wilbur seemed to understand that and he didn't say a word instead, pocketing the phone and pulling him in for a crushing embrace, that communicated his thanks and grief. George could feel the rhythm of a heart that he hoped would beat for decades longer than his would, and he knew he had made the right choice. 

A knock on the door signaled that their time was up and Wilbur released him. Before he exited the room, he turned around and tapped his right fist against his heart. Unable to say anything, George could only give a nod as the door shut behind his friend. 

The door opened again immediately. George looked over surprised. There wasn't anyone else that he was close to in the District and no family members to see him off. 

A family of three and George immediately recognize Tubbo, the boy he had saved from the Games as well as his blonde brother.

Tubbo immediately rushed over and wrapped his skinny arms around George's midriff, sobbing into his shirt. Awkwardly, George patted the boy's back as hiccups echoed through the room. 

"Why?" Tubbo asked, between sobs. "Why did you do this?"

"Because I owe you," George replied. "You saved my life, remember?" Tubbo nodded. "So now we're even." 

"Me saving you life won't make a difference if you just get killed," Tubbo said, wiping away his tears. His brown eyes looked into George's pleadingly. "So please come back."

Instead of replying, George gave a small smile and gave the boy a small hug. Releasing him, he turned to Tubbo's brother. "Take care of your brother, okay?"

"You don't have to tell me that," Tommy mumbled, looking at the ground. After a moment's hesitation, he also came forward and gave him a swift hug. "Thank you. For saving Tubbo."

George patted the boy's shoulder in answer. He looked over at the third person who appeared to be the two's mother. "If you ever need food, just go to Complex 24, Room 2C. My friend, Wilbur can help you."

The woman nodded, her eyes glassy and just a bit relieved that her son would be spared for at least another year. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for saving my boy." Hesitating for a second, she took off one of the two rings she was wearing. "Please take this."

George tried to protest, but the woman dropped the ring into his hand and curled his fingers around it. "Just take it, please," she insisted, her voice firm. "This was a talisman from my husband, supposed to bring you good luck. Hopefully, it can protect you."

Finally, realizing that the woman wouldn't take this gift back, George slipped the ring onto his finger. It was a little loose so he made a reminder to find something to string it up so he could wear as a necklace. "I'll promise I'll wear this into the arena."

Nodding, the woman stepped back just as the knock came again and a Peacekeeper's voice rang out. "Tribute, your time is up. The train will be departing soon."

Giving Tubbo and Tommy one last hug, the door opened as Peacekeepers marched into the room. 

"Good luck, George," Tubbo said, as he held on to George. "I know you can win this."

George tightened his grip for a second and then let go. The Peacekeepers escorted him out of the building and to a set of double doors that led to the train. Standing right before the doors, he tried to wipe away all trace of emotions from his face, building a mask of neutrality. Cameras would surely be outside the building and he couldn't show vulnerability. 

Feeling the weight of his promises, George took a deep breath and opened the door into his inescapable fate, determined to fight but never return.


	3. The Star Attraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a 4.8k chapter! Enjoy!

The sound of a door being knocked on penetrated the restless sleep that George had fallen into. Mind still dulled with sleep, he sat upright, thrashing his sheets to get away from the imaginary dark shapeless things that chased him. Eventually, he remembered where he was and his breath evened out as his mind filtered in the familiar drawling voice from behind his door. 

"Wake up, George," Fundy called, his voice slightly muffled behind the wood. "We're almost at the Capital and you still haven't eaten breakfast." 

"Give me fifteen minutes," George called back. An unintelligible reply answered him and he sat there until the sound of retreating footsteps faded away. 

Fighting his way out of the silk sheets he had tangled around himself, he fumbled his way to the bathroom in his room. Turning on the light, he examined his reflection. 

His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and the dark bags under his eyes showed the evidence of disturbed sleep. His eyes looked back at him hollowly and he quickly turned away from the mirror, shuddering, and turned on the shower.

As the warm water rinsed the dried sweat from his body, his mind wandered back to the conversation that his entourage had over dinner last night about his approach. 

At first, he had been blown away by the food displayed before him. The sheer quantity and quality presented before was something he could never accomplish back home. Battered pieces of chicken drizzled with a golden sauce, dishes of thick noodles and grains of pearly white rice decorated with tiny pieces of meat and vegetables, platters of thinly sliced beef adorned with bright fruits. He didn't make an effort at conversation and instead focused on the food, thinking that he would probably never have a better meal than this. If anything, the extra pounds and calories would sustain him for a while when he entered the arena. He could see Niki beside him doing the same. 

Fundy and Philiza, who asked them to call him Phil, left them alone during the main course, only asking them to pass something or offering a dish. It wasn't until dessert (a layered fruit cake that looked too pretty to eat) was served that Phil placed his glass of wine down and looked at them. 

"Okay, I'm going to keep this simple. In six days, both of you will be entering an unknown terrain with twenty-two other people and my job is to get, hopefully, one of you out alive," Phil said, looking at both of them with a serious expression. "But to do that, I need to know what I have to work with. So tell me." His eyes flickered between the two of them. "Unless you rather I guide you separately?"

"You can coach us together," he had said immediately. Beside him, Niki nodded. "We're going to be allies anyway." 

"Okay, then," Phil said, nodding. "First, tell me what you can do."

George opened his mouth but Phil cut him off. "I know what you can do, George," the blonde man said. "You've quite a reputation for computers back home."

He felt his stomach drop and quickly glanced at Fundy who was sitting back in his chair, sipping wine. If the details of what he used his computer skills for came out, then not only would he be tormented in the arena but Wilbur would be in danger as well. Before he could say anything though, Phil went on and added, "I've brought some of your pirated movies and CDs before and people talk about them." 

That was a total lie but George thanked the man for covering for him. The truth was that his skills ran toward much more serious deeds than illegally obtaining movies and music, but he was relieved that those would remain a secret. 

Fundy gave an amused smile at George's glancing at him. "I wouldn't worry about getting in trouble for that anymore," he said, a finger tracing the rim of his glass. "you'll either come out dead, would solve all your issues, or you come out a victor with so much money that they won't bother trying to arrest you for something so petty."

"That's comforting," George replied, trying to cover any hint of guilt or fear. 

Fundy gave him a smile that showed the points of his canines and George suppressed a shudder as Phil continued, "Anyway, I don't know how useful those skills will be but of you got your hands on a device, could you hack into the arena itself?"

"I think so," George said, thinking. "If there's a central system that the Gamemakers use, I think that's possible."

"Interesting, but how sure are you?" Fundy said, leaning forward and fixing him with his sharp eyes. "That's something that's never been done before. What makes you think it's possible?"

George looked at the man. "It's like you said, it's never been done before. The Gamesmakers have no reason to be cautious in guarding their system for the arena. I can break through a weak defense pretty easily if you get me a decent computer. The question is when I'm in, will they let it stay that way?" He doubted the creators of the arena would appreciate intrusion in their masterpiece. The look in Fundy's eyes changed from skeptical to an almost excited look that George couldn't explain. 

"I think they'll appreciate the change of pace," Phil said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "For almost a century, they've always had the same physical confrontations. A different approach might interest them enough to let them keep it going. But they won't let it be that easy, I'm sure. They'll make you work to keep your control." He leaned forward. "But otherwise, I want you to focus on picking up some basic survival and weapon skills. Learn to build a fire, set up snares, throw a knife, that kind of thing. Save your hacking skills for the private sessions. If they see what you could do, they might put a device for you to use in the Cornucopia"

George nodded. It was a solid plan and gave him a good edge over the other tributes. Phil turned to Niki. "Niki, you're not as well-known around the District. I'm not sure what your strengths are."

Niki nervously fidgetted and a dull blush came to her face. "I don't really have anything I'm good at," she answered, voice quiet. "I mean, I can handle electronics, but nowhere near what George can do."

George, who knew Niki's humble nature and low self-esteem, immediately spoke up. "You have good hand-eye coordination, Niki," he said. He turned to Phil. "She's accurate at throwing things. If she can get some knives, she can handle anything."

Phil considered this for a moment. "Niki, if you're not confident in your projectile skills, then practice some to get the feel of it but only until you know you would stand out if you continued. Also, you should pick up some basic survival skills. During the independent sessions, shoot a bow, throw a knife, do something to show off your accuracy."

"Okay." George was relieved that Niki looked more confident now that she had a plan and encouragement. He would need her help if they were to survive. 

"I think that it's for tonight," Fundy said, unfolding himself from the chair. "We'll arrive tomorrow so try to get some sleep and look presentable." He left the room, bringing his glass of wine with him. Phil also left, after bidding them good-night, leaving him and Niki alone at the table.

George picked at the slice of cake before him, unsure of what to say. This was the first time they've been alone since the Reaping and somehow, talking about some mundane, didn't seem appropriate with them on their way to a place where they would be prepped for a deathmatch.

Finally, Niki broke the silence. "George, I know what you're going to do, so don't lie to me." She turned to him with a steady gaze. 

George swallowed the piece of fruit in his mouth. There wasn't any point in pretending anymore. "You mean the fact that you're the one that deserves to go home and I'm going to help you do that?"

"What makes you think I'll be happy going back if it means that you have to die?" Niki said furiously. "I know you promised Wilbur but you could do some much more good with your 'computer skills' back home." Her voice clearly indicated what she meant by his "computer skills." "If I go home, can I do what you can?"

"If you die, what do you think is going to happen to Wilbur?" George shot back. "You know how he is, remember when his dog died? It took six months for him to function normally again. Do you think he'll ever be able to recover watching you die?" Niki opened her mouth to protest. "Look, can we not talk about this? I've already decided and nothing you say can change my mind." 

Niki stood up and gave him an even gaze. "Fine, but know that I'll be doing what's best for everyone." She walked to the doorway, and as the door opened, she turned back and added, "And I think you're not giving your best friend enough credit if you think he'll break down forever if I die." That said, she left the dining car and shutter the door behind him. 

So, now he had a strategy and a plan for what he was going to do, he thought as the warm water heated down on him. And the very person he was trying to save would be doing the same for him. _Exactly what I needed, more obstacles_ , he thought bitterly.

After he was done, he quickly brushed his teeth and moisturized himself. Changing into form-fitting jeans and a blue t-shirt, he left his room and joined his group in the dining room. Phil and Fundy were talking quietly at one end of the table while Niki was at the other end, though they stopped the moment he entered. He joined Niki who looked like she was done eating and was sitting there idly, waiting for their arrival. Giving her a greeting, he settled into a breakfast of elaborate sandwiches and fried eggs.

The two adults came over and sat down next to them. "Okay, George, now that you're here, I want to tell both of you what's going to happen," Phil said. "When you arrive, the stylists are going to fix you up for the opening ceremony. You probably won't like what they're going to do but don't resist. What they're doing will ultimately help you."

"You might not have to worry about that, actually," Fundy piped up. "Your district got new stylists this year and from what I can see, they're pretty tamed with their outfits. They probably won't do anything extreme to your bodies too. I think one of them was called Eret?" 

"Well, that's something. But just in case, don't resist," Phil warned. 

George nodded and Niki did the same. The adults moved back to the end and continued their conversation in hushed tones. Occasionally, he could feel one of their eyes flickered over to him quickly. Fidgeting uncomfortably, he finished his breakfast and sipped at a glass of tangy orange juice. 

Suddenly, the view outside the mirrors was plunged into darkness. George realized quickly that they were speeding through the tunnel in the mountains surrounding the Capital. Getting up, he walked over to the window as they thundered through the mountain. A minute later, a blinding ray of sunshine glanced off from one of the glass buildings and he covered his eyes. Blinking the spots out of his vision, he realized the train was slowing down until it came to a stop in the station. 

For better or worse, he was now in the Capital. 

\----|}{|----

George sat on the metal table, feeling the cold bite of metal in his skin. He was only allowed to keep his shorts on and he felt extremely vulnerable with his body on display like this. It didn't help that occasionally that every so often, a piece of his leg or arm hair would be yanked with a painful twinge.

"Don't worry, we're almost done!" The high-pitched voice of the woman who so resembled a flamingo rang out. 

"You're doing marvelous!" her peacock-looking brother added, his voice equally as high pitched and grating on his ears. Seriously, what did these two do in their free time between Hunger Games, snort helium? With everything that's he encountered in the Capital so far, he couldn't say he would be surprised if they did.

Finally, they deemed him passable and scurried off to find his stylists, laughing and talking animatedly. 

George pulled his knees up to his chest, examining his mostly bare legs. The skin was a little red from the constant abuse, another sign that neither his body nor life belonged to him anymore. The cool air filtering into the room caressed the scars on his back and he shivered. How would his stylist react when they see it? Most likely, they'll recoil in disgust and give him a look of pity like the assistants had done. 

As he sat on top of the table, he thought back to the day he got those scars. It had been a month since he'd ran away from the community house where he had spent his entire life.

From what he had gathered from the gossiping maids and keep, he had been unplanned and therefore, unwanted, left at the community house for the district to deal with. For years he had suffered in that cramped building with the other discards and orphaned, where food from the district was unreliable and harsh words and slaps the norm. 

When he was fourteen, he packed his bag with the few belongings he had in the middle of the night, picked the locks, and jumped the wired fence. He ran as long as he could until he slumped in a dark alleyway where the streetlights didn't reach, relieved that he had got away.

Pretty soon, he realized that surviving wasn't as easy as he thought it was going to be. His hacking skills were already rather impressive but he had nothing to work from and no one wanted to hire a skinny fourteen-year-old to do anything. So he resorted to theft, stealing what he could from the vendors and stalls. 

It was during one of those mini-heists where he ran out of luck. He had snatched some apples from a stall and as he ran around a corner, he slammed into a pair of Peacekeepers, knocking one of them and himself to the ground.

"Hey, you little shit!" Terror gave his legs a burst of strength and he scrambled up from the ground, ducking into the nearby alleyways. But he was malnourished and his pursuers were relentless. His adrenaline didn't last long and as he slowed down, he heard a sharp click and something landed on his back. An instant later, his entire body seized up as electricity coursed through him. A strangled cry forced its way out of his mouth as he crashed to the ground, scraping knees and elbows. 

Heavy footsteps thudded closer and as he laid there twitching on the ground from the residual volts, he was pulled up by the front of his shirt and a closed fist smashed him across the face. Blood poured into his mouth and he felt himself drop again. His consciousness was flickering as he heard voices through the haze of pain. 

"Slum bitches should watch where they're going," one of them spat. "My uniform's going to have some kind of disease on it now." 

"Teach him a lesson," a second voice said. George could see that man hand a tightly coiled whip to the other man. "Show what happens when you mess with the Capital's soldiers." 

He knew what was coming and tried to run but his legs refused to cooperate. A hand grabbed his shirt and practically ripped the back off. _Let me_ _die_ , he had thought. _Let me die before it happens._

The first lash felt like a line of fire across his back, opening a deep gash that poured blood. He cried and promptly bit down on his tongue when the second strike caused him to bite down. Blood dripped down his chin as three, four, five, ten lashes in total rained down on him.

"Okay, that's enough," the second man said. The gravelly voice filtered through the fog in George's mind. "We've wasted enough time and I want to go home." 

"Fine." Blood splattered from the whip onto his back as the man wiped it clean. "Next time, you won't get off so easily, urchin." The heavy footsteps tromped away until silence came in. 

Blood leaked freely from the cuts on his back as he watched the yellow-gray liquid pool around him. _I'm dying_ , his brain though sluggishly with a disturbing calm. _I'm dying and no will save me_. He could feel the first drops of rain until it steadily turned into a downpour, the cold beads stinging the lacerations and mixing with his blood. Dimly, he heard footsteps join the patter of raindrops. 

_They're coming back. They're coming back and finishing what they started._ He felt a gloved hand touch his side and he feebly struggled to get away from it.

"Please stop moving!" A small child's urgent voice reached his ears and he stopped struggling. "We need to get you first-aid now. Tommy, help me carry him back home!"

"Tubbo, he's done for! Look how much blood he's lost! WE need to get away before those Peacekeepers come back and find us helping a criminal!"

"Tommy, either you help me or I'll do it myself!" A second later, another pair of hands grabbed him and lifted him. The world tilted and faded as he let himself sink into a world where the pain wouldn't reach him. 

When he woke again, he was lying on his stomach on a kitchen table, his back flaring with a dull fire, while warm hands doctored his cuts. 

"Oh you're awake," a familiar voice said. "Don't move or you'll mess up the bandages." He lied there obediently as cool water was drizzled over his inflamed wounds, slipping between consciousness and sleep, occasionally hearing the voice of a boy and a woman's. 

When he came to, the room was dark and he could see a mass of brown hair dozing in a chair next to the table. His cuts seemed to have scabbed over, indicating that he had been lying there for a while. There was almost no pain, which probably meant that he was on some kind of painkiller. He quietly swung his legs off of the table and stepped down onto the floor silently. He had a new shirt on that was slightly too big and he felt cleaner that he had for a long time. His wounds ached but it was a much better improvement from the seething pain that had seared his back. 

That night, he crept away from the house, managing to get out without detection. From the outside, he could tell the place was a small doctor's office. As he walked as fast he could through the streets, his cuts flaring up again, he saw a poster attached to a flickering streetlight. It was advertising a job opening for someone who had basic hacking skills and it said anyone who was interested could come to Complex 24 Room 2C. _What the hell,_ he had thought. He had nothing more to lose. So that morning, after collecting his bag from where he left it, he headed to the complex, meeting Wilbur, a lanky awkward teenager then, for the first time. The job interview, if you could call it that, was over in a minute, and the next thing he knew, he had moved in with Wilbur and together they started a small business ran out of their shared apartment. He learned more about him, how Wilbur was also an orphan that had run away from the community home but unlike him, managed to get a computer where he could work from. 

Eventually, he had moved out, got his own place, though he still worked over at Wilbur's occasionally. And when he could, he would leave money or food at the doctor's office whenever he could, making sure that he was never seen. But it never felt enough to repay them and he always felt like there was something more he could do. And, now he had so that was one weight off his mind at least. 

His mind jolted back to the present when he heard the stainless door slide open again. He looked up to see a tall man enter the room. The man looked fairly normal, with curly light brown hair and no alterations as far as he could see. There was a hint of eyeliner on his face and black nail polish decorating his fingernails but if George met him back home, he wouldn't give him a second glance. 

"Hello, George," the man said, his voice deep and soothing after the torture his ears went through, listening to the high-pitched squeals of the assistants. "My name is Eret and I'm the new District 3's stylist."

"Hi," George said cautiously. This must be the person that Fundy had told him about, the newcomer who was supposedly more "tame" than the other stylists. 

"Well, there's no time to waste so let's talk about your outfit," Eret said. An excited grin graced his face and George felt a shiver of apprehension run down his spine. "District 3's focus is electronics, right? I'll say only one word: holofiber."

Hours later, he was dressed in what was either going to be the Hunger Game's biggest flop or success. Thin interlocking fibers stretched from the armbands on him and a similar pattern was used as a short cape from his shoulder. Theoretically, the electronic fibers were weaved in such a pattern that it could create a holographic display of just about anything thought George had never seen anything like it done before. Holofibers were something that District 3 had innovated a couple of years ago and while it had caused excitement at first, no one had managed to harness it for an outfit with very good results and was deemed unusable. Until now, George hoped. 

"Hey." Niki walked up beside him with her stylist. Her own outfit was similar to his, simple white dress where he had a tunic and pants and a black undershirt. She had holofibers weaved in her hair as well as the ones on her arms and cape. Slight hints of make-up enhanced her face, bringing out her natural beauty. 

"You look great," George said with a small smile. "I think it's starting soon. We should get on."

As they climbed the chariot, Eret came over. "Okay, when you roll out there, don't worry about anything except waving to the crowd. I'll turn the fibers on here with this remote." He held a tablet. "Understand?" They nodded and he smiled. "Good. You're going to look fabulous." The brown-haired man quickly stepped back as the tempo of the drums grew louder.

The giant doors creaked open and the District 1 chariot started moving, followed by District 2. Soon enough, their chariot followed, and the roar of the crowd greeted them as they rode into the night. The music rose steadily, a pulse that seemed to shake the ground, mixed with the crowd's calls.

As they entered the path, George saw a brief flare of blue light and amazed, he watched the holofibers activate.

Holographic images rose out, twisting and fluctuating until his short cape turned into a shimmering blue wave that fanned out behind him. His arms were adorned with wings and as he looked onto the screen, he saw an elaborate blue crown on his head. Beside him, Nik looked positively radiant with her wreath of blue roses and cape. The holograms didn't stay still, flapping in an imaginary wind and pulsing. They were brilliant as a falling star with all the radiance of angels. 

The crowd screams grew as they pointed and gaped at their chariot. As they moved past, he and Niki waved at them and hands reached out as if seeking their light. The tributes of the other districts might as well not have existed. The hopeful feeling in his heart grew. They had made an unforgettable impression and surely, they had gained tons of sponsors from this. 

Finally, they pulled into in front of the president, a tall imposing man with a sharp goatee and artificial, George hoped, ram horns that curled along the side of his head. He stood up, smiling down at the tributes and the crowd from the tall balcony. Like everyone else's his eyes seemed to linger on their chariot the longest. The national anthem rang out as President Schlatt gave the formal welcome to the tributes from the districts. 

Soon, they were pulling into the Tribute Center where their crew was almost delirious with joy at their success. The assistants were babbling away while Eret fiddled with something on his tablet and the holograms faded away. He looked tired but equally happy at his creation. "Well, how did you like that?" he asked. 

"It was great," George said, looking at the fibers attached to him. "How did you learn to control the fibers to this degree?" The amount of skill that Eret had with the holograms was impressive and he was interested in how he accomplished the impossible. 

"Practice and a shit-ton of studying," Eret said cryptically. "Come on, let I can show you."

George followed Eret as the man led him past the other district chariots. As he passed one of them, he felt a gaze on him. Turning around, he saw the male tribute from 7. He was an exponentially attractive person, all blonde hair, tanned skin, and broad shoulders that his outfit showed off nicely. The guy was staring at him as he walked by and as George turned his gaze to him, winked at him. 

Blushing slightly, George quickly turned away, catching up to Eret. They stopped in an open area, free from the chariots and other obstacles. 

"Okay stand there." George stood still as the stylist fired up the fibers again. Blue light bloomed outward until George was wearing the adornments he had on during the chariot ride. 

"The fibers were originally woven like any other thread into shirts and other clothing but the images would come out blocky and glitchy. So I thought what if we weave the fibers into a different pattern?" Eret tapped a couple of times on the tablet and the blazing blue cape turned into a pair of wings that stretched and pulsed. Holographic feathers fell and disappeared as they reached the ground. "So I experimented and this is the result." For the next few minutes, Eret explained the concepts of electricity and light that Geroge could barely follow. 

Eventually, George was left alone as Eret left onto some other task. He made his way to the elevator and was about to press the button for the car when an unfamiliar voice rang out. 

"George Davidson?" George turned around and saw the blonde tribute that had winked at him earlier leaning against the wall. 

"Oh, hi." He flushed at the unexpected company. He realized that the other tribute knew his name which meant he should probably know his. "Um, who are you?"

"Clay Bryce, District 7," the blonde replied. He walked over until he was standing next to George and pressed the button for the elevator. "Your stylist really knows what he's doing, doesn't he?" A small smile quirked his lips. "I couldn't take my eyes off you the entire ride."

"Thanks?" George said, his blush deepening. Was this guy flirting with him? That was the last thing George had expected to happen to him when he met the other tributes after his hit with the audience but he guessed it was better than getting singled out as the first target. 

The car arrived and both of them got into it. George pressed the number three on the list and determinedly tried to ignore Clay's gaze. He could feel the yellow eyes of the guy burning into him and he was relieved when the elevator stopped on his floor. Before he could leave though, a hand caught his wrist and he looked up at Clay. 

"Do you want to be allies, George? I think we could work well together." The pressure on his wrist was light but George's heart was racing at the warm grip of the other tribute. 

"Um, I'll think about it," he replied, forcing the words out. Their faces were pretty close and undoubtedly, the blush on his face was growing. 

"Okay," Clay said, with a gentle smile. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, George." The hand left his wrist and the door closed, leaving a flustered George with the last image of yellow eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make George's backstory a lot more traumatizing but then I thought, do I really want to go that far? Nah. So there you go.  
> As always leave comments if you want to say anything and kudos if you like!


	4. Enemies in the Deep Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a wordy chapter. I hope it's not too boring.

As the dawn washed over the metallic buildings of the Captial the next day, George could barely function. His head was pounding from exhaustion and the coffee he was currently drinking did nothing to help. 

Currently, he was sitting at the table on the balcony that was part of his room in the Tribute Center, sipping the lukewarm liquid he ordered. Ever since dinner, his mind had been flipping through the faces of the tributes he now knew from the recap and that image of bright yellow eyes, which he now figured was green unless altered, coupled with that small smile. All of them would have to die if he wanted to keep his promise to Wilbur. And some of those deaths would be his hands. That thought was enough to intensify his migraine and he buried his head into his arms with a groan. 

He never wants to kill anyone. His own close brush with death gave him a first-hand experience of the painful heart-stopping terror that turned his mind blank and the hopelessness that gripped you like a vice. It wasn't something he wanted to experience ever again. 

The light grew steadily stronger, as George sat there with his head down. Eventually, he figured he might as well start his morning. The longer he sat there, the more his mind tortured him with his bladed thoughts. 

Taking a quick shower, he dried off and brushed his teeth with the mint toothpaste supplied there for him. He felt marginally better after his shower, but the dark circles around his eyes were persistent. Coming back to his room, there was an outfit laid out for him, a light blue shirt and comfortable black pants. He liked that the shirt was blue, a color that he could actually see. He donned the shirt, feeling the soft and smooth material against his skin, so unlike the scratchy clothes that he would normally wear. The pants weren't too loose or tight and the material was It would have probably cost him an entire week of selling his services and hacking to afford this outfit. And here at the whim of a Gamemaker, twenty-four of these could be sent instantly without blinking an eye. Before he could start overthinking about the opulence of the Capital and the unfairness of it all, he left his room and entered the dining room. 

Phil and Niki were serving themselves from the buffet table laid out by the Avoxes but Fundy was nowhere to be seen. Secretly, George was glad for that. He didn't need the chaperone burning more holes into him with his eyes this morning. The orange-haired man's razor-sharp gaze always seemed to be fixed on him no matter what and the shrewdness he saw in them was unnerving, especially when they were directed at him. 

Loading his plate with as much food as possible, George sat down next to Niki. "Morning," he mumbled. 

"Good morning," she replied. By comparison to him, she looked perfectly fine, if not a little drawn. She took a closer look at him over her plate of eggs and toast. "You look awful, George."

"Couldn't sleep." He shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth to prevent being asked for a further explanation. Niki, being the considerate and understanding person she was, didn't ask for one. 

"You look like you're going to crash any moment now," Phil added. "How were planning on getting through training?"

"Just try to fight through it?" George answered. Truth be told, there was nothing more he wanted to do right now but curl on the floor and take a nap, though it'll probably end up with more nightmares for him. 

"Or I could give you something so that you're actually coherent during the day," Phil said. "Do you want me to?"

"I guess." His headache was still bothering him and his mind was moving sluggishly. At this point, he'll do anything to get rid of it. 

Phil walked over to one of the Avoxes standing nearby, saying words he couldn't catch. A minute later, a small purple pill was deposited in front of him with a clear glass of water. George picked it up, looking at it with a stab of doubt. "This is safe, right?"

"As far as I know," was his only answer. Not very reassuring but in the end, his pounding head won out and he swallowed the pill with a gulp of water. 

Slowly, his headache disappeared and he felt a burst of chemically induced energy shot through his body. "Woah," he said, blinking. The world had sharpened into high-definition and his body was shaking slightly from a jitteriness, that felt like he consumed too much caffeine. 

"Better?" Phil asked. George nodded, amazed at the potent effects of the medicine. That small pill he consumed probably cost a small fortune, something none but the Capital could afford. He wondered, if they could fix a migraine so easily, what about his vision?

"Can they fix color-blindness here as well?" he asked Phil. The man thought for a second and shrugged. 

"It's definitely possible. Are you color-blind?" When George nodded, Phil added, "I can put in an inquiry with the Gamemakers and if it's approved, we'll you operated on."

"Okay." The conversation ended as they dug into their food. George watched the sun rise higher into the sky through the floor-to-ceiling window, illuminating the bright yellows and blues that was all he could see. _Maybe_ , he thought as he ate his way through his waffles and bacon, _I could see the world as it really is soon_.

When they were done, Phil leaned forward with his elbows on the table as the Avoxes took their plates away. "The training doesn't start until ten. Do you guys want to go over what you need to do?" George shook his head, seeing Niki do the same beside him. "Okay, but if you have any questions or concerns, now's the time to tell me."

"The male tribute from District 7 wants to be allied with us," George blurted out, remembering the offer that Clay had made. He wanted a victor's opinion on the offer before deciding. 

"District 7?" The sharp tone in Phil's voice was an obvious change from his previous kind, but distant tone. George looked at him, seeing what looked like a barely suppressed look of excitement in the victor's eyes. "Clay Bryce?"

"Um, yeah?" He was confused about Phil's reaction but before he could comment, Phil gave a small cough and continued. 

"He would be a strong ally, I think," Phil said, his tone shifting back to his old neutral voice. "He could make up what you both lack in sheer physical strength. As far as I'm concerned, he's a good choice. But the decision is ultimately up to you." The blonde man turned to Niki. "What do you think, Niki?" 

"I don't know," Niki said. "You say he's strong and all but we don't know if he's trustworthy or not. For all we know, he could stab us right in the back and there's not much we could do if we let him get close." 

"He didn't give me that impression when I talked to him," George admitted. "But yeah, we should look into him more closely."

"Work with him in training today and then you can decide," Phil said, standing up. "I need to go but know that I think he's a strong candidate for an ally for you two." The blonde man walked back to the corridor of rooms, shutting his door behind him. 

"Do you think Phil's acting pretty weird?" George asked, looking at the closed door to Phil's room. "I mean, he acts distant and he was kinda pushing us to be allied with Clay." 

"Maybe," Niki answered. "It can't be easy having to mentor two kids only to end up with them dying almost every year."

"Yeah," George said in a quiet voice. It sounded like a living hell to him, having to guide tributes as best as you could but knowing ultimately, the most you could hope for was for one to survive. 

"George, how did you even meet up with that guy last night?" Niki asked, a wide smile on her face. "I was shoved into the elevator with a bunch of other people and no one said a word." 

George recounted the events from last night about him meeting Clay, from the meeting in the stables to the elevator ride. When he was finished, Niki's grin only widened. "He was definitely flirting with you, George. One hundred percent guaranteed. And if he was flirting with you, it could mean he likes you." 

"What, no way!" He flushed a deep red, as he always did whenever he and Niki had these discussions/integrations about whatever boy that caught his attention back home. "This is the Games, Niki. I don't think tributes come here to form relationships."

With those words, Niki's face fell. For a brief moment, they had both forgotten what being in the Capital meant for them. There was an uncomfortable silence and George cursed himself for bringing up the subject. 

"Sorry," he said after a minute. He gripped one of Niki's hand that was lying on the table. "We're going to win, Niki. No matter what, I promise I'll keep you safe."

"And I promise I'll protect you too," Niki replied instantly. "If I die, you have to go back, George. We can't let Wilbur lose both of us. Can you promise me that?"

"Okay." He gave a small quick smile. "You might not need to protect me though if I get a boyfriend in the arena like you think I will."

"Woah, desperate much?" she replied, dryly. For the next half hour, they slipped into the familiar rhythm of the bickering that friends did. He was glad that they had managed to turn away the subject from their current predicament. 

Eventually, though their time of peace was up. When the clock ticked to a quarter before ten, Phil reentered the dining room. 

"So good news, the Gamemakers approved the operation," Phil said, looking at George as he led them out of the dining room to the elevator. "I guess they wanted to even the playing field as much as possible. The surgery will be after training tomorrow."

"That's good," he replied simply. He and Niki waited nervously for the car to arrive, fidgeting slightly. Phil offered to go with them. They refused, aware that having an adult accompanied them would seem rather weak and pathetic. 

Minutes later, minutes that felt like a blur to George, they were in the massive gymnasium, having their district number pinned onto their backs. He took the opportunity to examine his competitors. Most looked either nervous, malnourished, or both. The norm in all by the highest-ranking districts. The Careers, on the other hand, those from the wealthier districts were standing confidently, glancing arrogantly upon the rest of them.

Some of the tributes stuck out to him particularly. A tall gray-haired(which he assumed wasn't actually gray but pink, though that was pretty weird as well) boy from District 2, who gave him a vicious smirk when their eyes met. An exceptionally beautiful girl from District 4 with glossy black hair. Two tributes from District 6, that appeared to be twins. And of course, Clay, who gave him a wide grin as he bounded over. 

"Hey," the blonde greeted, moving to stand next to him. "How are you doing, George?"

"Well, enough." The cold formality in his tone dimmed Clay's smile slightly and he felt a pang of guilt that was quickly forced down. He needed to establish the fact that the most they could be were allies and even that would be temporary. For all his joking with Niki, the last thing he wanted was more emotional baggage. "How are you?" 

"I'm fine," Clay replied, hitching that smile up again. It was starting to become a little annoying how optimistic the guy was considering what they were here for. "Have you considered my offer? It still stands."

George glanced at Niki, who was looking Clay over with a calculating look. He trusted Niki's sense of character judgment and his eyes asked the question for him. She gave him a barely imperceptible nod.

"We can be allies," he said, turning to Clay. "My mentor said you would be a good choice and instructed me to." Not a complete lie but hopefully it'll put some distance between them. 

"If you don't want to be allies, we don't need to team up," Clay said. "I can just say I changed my mind." He looked at George with a sad look.

 _Great_ , George thought. Did he want to confess that he wanted Clay as an ally? Not particularly. Did he want the help of the blonde? Yes, he did. Especially after seeing his competition, an extra hand would probably be the reason he and Niki could survive. In the end, that expression of dejection decided for him. 

"No, I want to be allies," George said. "You look useful enough." 

Clay gave a smaller smile that in George's opinion looked more genuine. "Shake on it." A tanned hand was extended to him. After a moment's hesitation, he took the hand, feeling the warmth as his own was covered by Clay's. The blonde held on a beat longer than necessary and then released it.

Clay turned to Niki and said with a polite smile, "Hi, you're Niki, right?" 

"Yes, and I've heard all about you from George," Niki said, with a smug smile at George.

"Really?" The blonde turned to George with a raised eyebrow and smile. "Did I really leave that good of an impression?" 

"You wish," George shot back. To his surprise, Clay started laughing in a weird wheezy way that caused most of the tributes to glance over. George couldn't blame them. Clay sounded like a tea kettle that someone left on the stove, his high-pitched wheeze shrill. It was both stupid-sounding and endearing at the same time. _Kinda like Clay_ , he thought.

A trainer who was standing in the center of the tributes cleared his throat audibly, clearly trying to say something. George elbowed the taller boy in the ribs and Clay stifled his laughter. With a final glare at the trio, the trainer started explaining the different stations. He pointed out the spear throwing, hand-to-hand combat, bomb construction, basic survival skills, and so forth. When they were released, the Careers went for the combat stations predictably while most of the rest stumbled around in confusion before joining a random station. 

"So what do you want to do?" Clay asked them, looking around at the scattered tributes.

"Um, let's start with survival skills," George replied, remembering Phil's instructions. "And then go from there."

The other two nodded in agreement and followed him. The trainer there was already helping a dark-haired boy with light brown skin with a white headband tied around his head. Eventually, the trainer came over and showed them how to start a fire without matches. 

For the next four hours or so, he, Niki, and Clay moved between stations, making snares, finding edible plants, and first aid. Meanwhile, Clay kept up a running commentary of jokes and chatter. Slowly, George learned more and more about the boy, like the fact that he had a sister and cat back in the district he left behind, could climb a thirty-foot tree in eleven seconds flat, kept his family afloat ever since his mom died and his father paralyzed from an accident and preferred green apples over red ones. George found himself laughing at the jokes and even sharing some details of his life. Slowly, the previous cool distance he had tried to maintain faded away, in the light of Clay's company. The blonde's gentle smiles and stupid wheezy laughs made him feel safer than he had ever since the Reaping. 

In the back of his mind, he knew logically that he shouldn't be getting this attached to Clay. The more he knew and learned, the more he wanted to stay with him. How on earth was he going to kill him with the knowledge that a family would lose their main source of income, that a small child's heart would be broken by his hands? George considered a maneuver where he had another tribute kill Clay but even that thought made him feel violently sick. 

Mercifully, though, he was rescued from his thoughts when a commotion broke out by the wrestling ring. Trainers and tributes alike ran over as yells sounded across the gym. They ran over as well, though the crowd of people blocked his view. Clay, on the other hand, towered over almost everyone else and with one look, started shoving his way through the crowd. Without pausing to think, George followed him in the wake of Clay's path.

Finally, at the front, George saw the pink-haired tribute from before standing over a trainer on the floor. A gurgling, gasping sound was coming from the trainer's mouth and George saw the foot that was stepping on the trainer's throat, constricting his windpipe. 

Without hesitation, Clay leaped over the rope surrounding the ring and charged at the tribute. The pink-haired boy only had time to raise his arms before Clay tackled him, bringing both of them to the ground. 

Ignoring the renewed yells, George ducked under the rope and kneeled next to the trainer, who was trying to suck in air through a half-crushed throat. Just as he was about to help the man up, George hesitated. This person was one of the Capital, the very same person who probably watched kids get sent to their deaths for years, even training them up for entertainment. Did he really want to help someone like that? 

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the man by the biceps and tried to lift him. He couldn't leave someone this helpless just because of the person's association. Didn't Tubbo do the same for him, help him despite not knowing what kind of person he was? Doubtlessly, the boy who had saved him would have also helped this man.

There was a sound of an impact and George turned to see Clay land on the ground beside him with a grunt of pain. The other tribute was standing over them, wiping away blood from a cut on his lips. 

George released the heavy trained back onto the ground and turned to Clay, who was getting onto his feet. He winced at the sight of the growing bruise on the boy's cheek. "Are you alright?" George asked a hand poised over the blonde's shoulder. 

"I'm fine," Clay said, getting to his feet, glaring at the pink-haired boy, who returned it venomously. 

"Couldn't mind your own business, huh, District 7?" he said with a sneer. The amount of aggression in such a monotone voice made George look up. The glare switched over to meet his eyes, almost causing him to flinch though he suppressed that instinct and stared back defiantly. "And you, District 3, thinking of playing nurse? Doubt that'll earn you any favor in the arena."

The superior and condescending look made him boil with fury. "At least I can fucking think, asshole," he snapped back.

The brute looked surprised for a second and then a hint of amusement sparked in his eyes. "Oh, look at that?" His lips were curled in a smirk. "Someone's got quite a tongue." George blinked and before he could move, the tribute was standing right in front of him. "Let's see how snappy you are when I rip it out."

Clay stepped between them and shoved the other tribute back. "Back off," he growled. The tribute snarled but before he could say anything, another voice rang out. 

"That's enough." George looked up to see a silver-haired Gamemaker standing on the edge of the balcony. "Confrontations, common as they are, are forbidden between tributes. We'll be lenient this time but understand that any further violation of this rule will be met with severe consequences, not for you but for those you've left behind. Understood?" With the veiled threat hanging in the silence, the man waved a languid hand. "Carry on then."

As the crowd dispersed, two trainers immediately ducked into the ring and heaved the injured trainer up. "You should get that bruise checked out," one of them told Clay. "And that cut too," she added to the pink-haired boy. "Come with us."

George ducked out of the ring and was about to head over to join Niki who was waiting for him nearby until a hand grabbed his arm lightly. 

"Can you come with me?" Clay asked. "I don't want to be alone with that guy," he said with a nod at the District 2 tribute. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Niki nodding rapidly at him. Guess he didn't have any choice. "Yeah, sur-," he began before another voice interrupted him. 

"How about I come with you?" The raven-haired girl from District 4 sidled up to Clay, way into his personal space until she was practically leaning on him. She twirled a strand of silky black hair and batted her wide sapphire eyes. "I can take care of you much better than some skinny wannabe," she said with a cruel smirk at George. 

"Um..." Clay's mouth was open slightly and he was clearly uncomfortable with how forward this person was. George knew enough about the blonde that the boy hated to turn someone down and was trying to fumble an excuse somehow. 

A feeling that he could only describe as jealousy flared up in George. Which was ridiculous, considering that there was nothing between him and Clay to be jealous of. Not as far as he knew, anyway. But that didn't stop him from stepping in. 

"I'll come with you, Clay," he said, stepping forward a bit, ignoring the girl. 

The blonde quickly shot him a look of gratitude and relief before turning to the black-haired girl with an apologetic look, "Thanks for the offer, but I'm good." 

The two of them quickly ran over to a side exit where the trainers were waiting and followed as the door slid open for them. Before the door closed, George glanced back at the girl that Clay had rejected and saw her glaring at him with burning eyes. The sapphire orbs that had looked so innocent when directed at Clay bored into him like a knife, looking sharp enough to kill. George shivered and turned away from the sight of those blazing blue eyes, with the sinking feeling that he had just made a dangerous enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave a comment about anything and kudos if you like!


	5. Light of Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating last week! Between school and Thanksgiving, I had pretty much no time to write. But here I'm back with a 4K chapter. Enjoy!

"I can't believe you said that to him," Clay said. 

Currently, they were wandering in the hallways, trying to find the way back to the elevator. They had ridden the elevator down to another floor, along with the pink-haired tribute and the other trainers. Needless to say, it was a rather awkward elevator ride, with the only bright side being it was over quickly. The elevator deposited them into a complex maze of hallways that eventually lead to the medbay. The medbay itself was sterile white and several doctors had immediately descended upon them. The trainer and the other tribute was taken into another room while Clay had simply been prescribed a pack of some high-tech bandage with the promise that the bruise would be gone in an hour. 

"Say what?" George was trying to remember what direction they had come from, but all the walls seemed to be the same metallic gray with light fixtures in the ceiling.

"What you said to that other tribute," the blonde replied a hint of laughter in his voice. "'At least I can fucking think, asshole.' You got guts for someone your size." 

"I'm so glad that me trying to kill myself amuses you," George responded dryly. "You can bet the first thing that tribute does in the arena is stick a sword in me." 

"Like hell he will. I'll protect you." The amusement in Clay's voice disappeared to be replaced with a determined tone. "That's what allies do." 

George didn't know how to respond to that. Clay, at times like this, seemed annoyingly confident and optimistic, not to mention hopelessly naive. They were in the Hunger Games, for crying out loud. Didn't he know that promises like that just made it easier for people to take advantage of him? And yet, the words did make him feel safe, that he had someone who would look out for him. George decided to just not respond to the blonde's reply and pointed down the hall in front of them. "Let's go down that way." Without waiting for Clay, he started down the hall.

Clay caught up to him quickly. "You think I'm stupid," the taller boy said as they walked side by side. "That I don't know where I am and what I'm here for." 

"Do you?" George shot back. "You act like you're here on a vacation and you can just go back home with all these new friends you've made. You do realize that if you want to go back home, every one of those tributes will have to die, including me and everyone you've been acting so friendly with." 

Clay was silent for a while. George felt a bit guilty for breaking the truth so harshly. But he didn't regret it. Clay had to know what was coming inevitably and just maybe, George was worried enough for the boy to want to make sure he knew the things that were at stake here, instead of the dream he was currently occupying.

"I know that," Clay finally said. "I'm not stupid, George. I just want to enjoy what little of my life remains before I die." 

At those words, a wave of irrational anger seized George. With a burst of strength from his anger, he grabbed the front of Clay's shirt and pulled the boy to face him. "Don't say that!" he spat. "Don't talk like you're just going to give up! What about your family back home, your sister? Are you just going to die and leave them behind?" 

Clay's hand grabbed the arm that was holding him, his grip tight, and yellow eyes blazing to match George's own. "I die, either way, George, if I win or not!" Clay shouted back, the first time his voice had been anything but cheerful toward him. "You think I can just go back home, after killing people and still be me? Still be the same? I've seen the victors back in my home district, most of them drugged out or drunk! Do you think I want to live like that, staring down at the bottom of a bottle or living for my next dose?" 

"At least, you'll still be alive!" George didn't know why he was so angry. He was basically encouraging his potential murderer to not give up on life. And even if Clay wouldn't kill him, he would have to die if George wanted to keep his promise to Wilbur. So why was he encouraging someone, who he knew would have to die, to live? Maybe it was because he realized that behind the happiness that Clay emitted, there was this hopelessness and the acceptance of death that mirrored his own on that rainy day where his blood had colored the floor of that alleyway. In the back of his mind, it was ironic that he, already resigned to the fact that he was going to die in the arena, was encouraging another person to fight for survival, especially since he probably would have to kill that same person. "You have a family that's waiting for you at home, unlike me!" 

And that was it, the fact that someone would so readily throw away what George had always wanted, a family with a mother who would love him and a father who would guide him. All the fight went out of him and he lowered his eyes, unwilling to see the pity he would surely find in Clay's eyes, though he didn't release his grip. "Don't throw away your life like this," he said, his voice quiet. "You can't treat your life like it's expendable." 

Clay was silent for a moment before he responded. "George-" he began before the sound of approaching footsteps rang out in the hallway. Both of them turned to see the pink-haired tribute from before rounding the corner before stopping at the sight of them. George realized his hand was still in Clay's shirt and the blonde's hand was still gripping his arm. From an outside perspective, it must've looked like the two were about to throw hands, which George honestly thought was going to happen until a moment ago. He quickly released his grip, Clay doing the same. 

For an awkward moment, the three stared at each other until the other boy smirked. "Lover's spat? Isn't it too earlier to be arguing in a relationship that's only been going on for what, two days?"

"Fuck off," Clay snapped back.

"What an original comeback." The boy's monotone voice seemed to be especially fit for sarcasm and he used it to its full effect. "Tell me, did the schools in District 7 teach you anything, besides chopping a tree?" 

"At least District 7 doesn't breed murderers like District 2 seem to," the blonde replied, eyes flinty and hard. "Did you learn anything besides twenty ways to kill a person without a weapon?" 

The pink-haired tribute eyes flashed and for a moment, George caught the burning anger in those dark eyes. "Typical. Assume I'm the one who goes around randomly assaulting people because I'm from District 2." He took a step closer. "Have you ever considered the fact that maybe I attacked that guy because he was sexually harassing me?" His lips curled into a snarl, showing the unnaturally long canines. "Fucking prick, grabbing my ass. I should've ripped his throat out. And then there are people like you two who think they're heroes, saving the defenseless and innocent. Give me a fucking break." He pushed past the two of them and stormed down the hallway.

Both of them watched the tribute disappear around the bend in the hallway ahead in silence. "Shit." Clay sighed, a hand running through his hair. "I really messed up. Now I feel bad."

"Yeah," George replied, feeling guilt swirling in his stomach. Thankfully, his days in the street never led him into being assaulted, but he could imagine the violation and anger he would feel if he had been. He regretted trying to help that trainer at all, now that he knew what the man had done. God knows how many other tributes he might've harassed before the pink-haired tribute had knocked him down. Maybe the people in the Capitol really were as bad as he had originally thought. 

Wordlessly, they followed the direction the other tribute had gone down. As they walked, George could feel a slight distance between him and Clay that wasn't there before. Maybe his little spiel had its intended effect and now Clay was contemplating the wisdom of getting close to people he was going to have to kill eventually. So along with losing a potential ally, he just made his already near-impossible task of keeping Niki alive even harder. _You really like making things difficult for yourself don't you,_ he said to himself. And the warm feeling of safety that Clay gave him with his constant cheer and laughter was now gone. And if he was honest to himself, he wanted that feeling back, selfish as that wish was.

It wasn't until the hallway spat them back out into the room where they had first originally come from that Clay said anything. 

"George, hold on." George turned to find Clay standing by the entrance to the hallway, his expression imploring. "Can I talk to you for a second?" 

Silently, George nodded and faced the blonde.

"You're not wrong, George," Clay began in a heavy tone. "It's true I have a family that I can go back to. But it's also true, that I won't be going back even if I survive. No as myself, anyway. Sure I'll live, but I'll be living by the Capitol's design." His voice was quiet but there was a fiery determination in his eyes. "Who really wins the Hunger Games, George? The victors? The districts? They don't. It's always the Capitol." 

"If I live, I'll be living with all of your blood on my hands. And I don't know how I could cope with that, only alive because you had to die, George. I can't do it." Clay stepped closer to him, expression pleading for him to understand. "I don't want to live in a world where I'll see your face only in my nightmares." 

George looked into those yellow eyes, and the deep sadness swirling in them. "You might not have a choice," he said, feeling all the emotions, all the fears, he'd been suppressing well up. "We don't have a choice, Clay." He looked away, feeling tears prick the edge of his eyes. "I don't want to kill you, Clay. But if I want to keep my promises, you have to die. And nothing can change that."

"I know." He felt the blonde step closer, and then his arms around him, enveloping him in an embrace. Automatically, George relaxed into the warmth, his last form of solace and safety in this unforgiving and cruel world. "But I want to spend whatever time we have left happy and worth it." The arms tightened. "Do you?"

George nodded. If he had to die, he would rather his last days be in the company of someone who made him happy. One way or another, in the arena, he would hold onto this sense of contentedness and security in his last moments.

\----|}{|----

"Dude, what even is this?" The raven-haired boy named Sapnap held up a cup of thick pale green liquid. "Like, I can't even tell if this is supposed to be a drink or sauce."

"Try it," Clay said, grinning. "Bottoms up, or you're a coward."

"Bet." Sapnap lifted the cup and drained the entire cup, some of it slopping down his shirt and onto the table. 

"You're honestly a hazard to society, Sapnap," George said dryly, wiping away the drops of liquid that had splattered onto his shirt while Niki and Clay laughed at the younger boy's determination to prove himself. 

He and Clay had ridden the elevator back to the gymnasium to find Niki at the camouflage station with the thin dark-haired, headband wearing tribute from their first station, laughing at she mixed swirls of mud and dirt on his skin. The tribute had introduced himself as Sapnap from District 12 and apparently had requested to be allies, which Niki had accepted. He was younger than the rest of them, at only fourteen-years-old, but he was already taller than George, who admittedly wasn't exactly average, a fact that neither Clay nor Sapnap could stop laughing at him about. George didn't mind though, not the fact that they now had a fourth person in their group or the teasing. Sapnap had a wide innocent smile and easy-going nature that made George want to protect him, despite the fact that they were both tributes. Clay got along with the boy straight from the start, and though he didn't say it, George knew it was because Sapanp reminded him of his sister, from all the small brotherly gestures he made, helping teach Sapnap what plants would be edible and what deadly poisonous and scooping extra helpings of food onto his plate when they were released for lunch. 

In the back of his mind, George knew this sense of family and friendship could only be temporary. But he wouldn't deny either Clay or himself these last few moments of peace and happiness. So he joined in the laughter and the jokes. 

"Yo, this slaps!" Sapnap yelled, slamming down the cup. "it tastes like milk...what's that fruit called?" The boy thought for a second before his eyes fell on the platter of fruit on their table. "Like that one!" He triumphantly pointed at the crescent-shaped green produce. 

"What, melon?" Niki replied, smiling at the boy's enthusiasm. 

"Yes, melon! Like carbonated melon milk!" He jumped up from the table. "I'm going to get some more and for you guys!" And off he went.

"I should probably go after him," George said, rising from his chair with his plate. "You guys want anything else?" 

"Nope, I'm good," Clay said, leaning back in his chair as Niki shook her head. "I'm going to explode if I eat anything else."

"I'd paid to see that," George replied. Clay flashed a grin at him which he returned easily. The tension between them had disappeared and Clay's smiles had returned, brightening everything around him. 

On his way to the carts of food, he caught weird glances from the other tributes and glares from the Careers. Probably because of how un-tribute like they were acting. While his group had been a fountain of jokes and laughter, most of the tributes had been eating in sullen silence by themselves.

George spotted Sapnap at one end of the cart line, pouring presumable more of that drink for them. And also the pink-haired tribute from before, serving himself some kind of stew. Guilt poured into his stomach like acid again at the sight of the taller boy, the harsh words he had uttered leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, doubly so when he realized that even though he was from a Career district, the pink-haired boy sat alone by himself instead with the other Careers. So he walked over casually to the boy.

"Hey," he greeted. The dark eyes whipped up to his in surprise, before narrowing. 

"What do you want?" the boy sneered, looking back down at the stew. "Going to throw more insults at me?" 

"No. I just want to say sorry about before," George replied steadily, refusing to allow the words to push him away. "About snapping at you for defending yourself." 

The tribute gave no indication that he had heard his words but instead continued swirling the stew in the pot, creating a whirlpool of bright vegetables and meat. In fact, he seemed to be distracted by the movement and color of the spinning stew.

"Uh, hello?" The tribute jumped slightly at his voice. For a moment, the boy seemed confused as to where he was but then recognition sparked in his eyes. 

"Yeah, whatever," the boy said, dismissively, not mentioning his brief distraction. "If you think apologies and being nice will save you, you're going to end up dead on the first day." 

"I know," George admitted. "I'm not apologizing because I think I'll get help or whatever, I'm apologizing because I felt bad about snapping for just defending yourself." The other tribute raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a disbelieving look. "I'm not lying. Take it how you want, but I'm sorry." There was a slightly awkward pause, in which neither of them said anything. Geroge tried to think of something to say after an apology like that and added, "You're ADHD, aren't you?" 

"What's that?" the pink-haired boy asked. "Is that some obscure, District 3 way of trying to insult me?" 

"What, no, it stands for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder." George glanced down at the slowly spinning stew. "That's why you were spinning the stew, weren't you. Because you got distracted by the colors and how they looked." 

"Yeah." The tribute dropped the ladle back into the pot. "Sometimes, I have trouble focusing and I just start thinking about or noticing random things. Or my brain just thinks of something and the next thing I know, I'm getting yelled at for climbing onto the roof of the community house or sneaking into places I shouldn't be." 

"You live at the community house in District 2?" The tribute nodded. "I used to live in the community house in District 3." He didn't know why but the fact that the other tribute was also an orphan made him seem more approachable.

"What do you mean you used to live there?" the other tribute asked. "If you didn't live there anymore, then you wouldn't be here."

"I ran away," George replied, scooping some of the stew onto his own plate. "Been living on my own for about four years now." 

"Lucky you," the taller boy said. "It sucks living there, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does," George agreed. After a moment's hesitation, he held out his hand. "I'm George." 

"Techno." The grip on his hand was strong but not painfully so. "What happened to not trying to be friendly?"

"Oh, I just thought you should know the name of the person who's going to win," George said with a shrug.

Techno gave a smile, not the vicious smirk from before but an actual one. "Oh, really? We'll see, then." He released George's hand. "And just as a reminder, as much fun this conversation had been, don't think for a minute I won't hesitate to cut your throat in the arena if we meet." 

"And don't underestimate me," George replied. 

"Believe me, I won't," Techno said, walking away. "And tell your boyfriend he can throw a decent punch," he added over his shoulder.

"He's not my boyfriend, asshole!" George said at the retreating back. He turned on his heel and walked back to his table, where Sapnap was chugging the carbonated melon milk like a manic while Niki cheered him on and laughed.

"What did he want?" Clay asked the moment he sat down. "Why were you talking with that guy?"

"I was just apologizing for snapping at him earlier," George replied, raising an eyebrow at the blonde's rather aggressive tone. "Why are you so mad?" 

"What, no I'm not!" Clay protested, a red flush coming to his face.

"Sounds like someone's jealous," George grinned, unable to help from poking fun at the blushing blonde. 

"We are not having this conversation right now," Clay grumbled though his tone was gentler now. He pushed a glass of the drink Sapnap was downing over. "Here, drink the carbonated melon milk Sapnap got you." 

George took a sip of the liquid and gagged with a disgusted yell. "This is disgusting!" The drink was so sugary and just plain bad. "Sapnap, how do you drink this?" 

"Not my fault, your tastebuds suck," the younger boy shot back as their table laughed at George's reaction. 

The rest of the day was spent back in training, after lunch, where they continued on trying to learn about the more basic survival skills. Clay showed them a faster method of climbing trees, and at the same time, proved he really could scale a thirty-foot tree in eleven seconds, resembling a squirrel in the way he could dart up the wood, finding handholds in the bark the rest of them couldn't even see. In addition, they did the obstacle course, something George excelled at, able to weave his way through the various parts. By the time, they were released back to their own floor, George was exhausted. And it didn't help that the effects of the pill he consumed in the morning seemed to be wearing off. Supper seemed to pass in a blur, George barely aware of the conversation and finally excusing himself from the table. In his room, he simply collapsed onto his bed and went out like a light.

\----|}{|----

After training on the second day, instead of finding himself back on his own floor, George was lying in a chair in the medbay floor of the Tribute Center, waiting as the doctor prepared the equipment for his operation. 

"Don't worry," she had assured him the moment he walked in. "You'll only experience a little bit of pain while we're doing this, okay?" 

Apparently, in Capitol terms, "a little bit of pain" meant his eyeballs felt like he had been sticking hot needles into them for the past hour, even though they had drugged him. The chair he was lying on had deep furrows gouged into the armrests and his fingers felt like they'd never unclench from the tense position they had been in during the operation. 

"You'll need to wear these as well for at least four hours as well," the doctor said, handing him a pair of thick glasses with blacked-out lenses. "They shouldn't interfere with your new vision but since your eyes are extremely sensitive right now, they'll protect them." 

"Okay." He donned the glasses and bolted out of the room, eager to test out his new sight. Running down the hallway of the medbay, he burst into the waiting room where Clay, Niki, and Sapnap was waiting for him. 

They jumped up and came over as soon as they caught sight of him. "Did it work?" Niki asked, right off the bat. "Can you see colors now?"

"Yeah, I can see now," he responded. "I just have to wear these for a few hours," he added, tapping his new lenses.

"Look at me, George," Clay said. 

"No, George, look at me," Sapnap insisted, trying to elbow the blonde out of the way. "I want to be the first thing Georgie sees in color." 

"Well since you called me Georgie, I'm not going to look at you," George said. He ignored Sapnap's indignant cry of unfairness and with his heart in his throat, took his first good look at Clay since the operation. 

The first thing his eyes were drawn to was Clay's eyes. No longer were they yellow but instead, they were now a vibrant green, without a doubt the most beautiful green he'll ever see. Unconsciously, his hand came up slowly and gently cupped Clay's face, taking in his friend. The drugs that were still in his system gave him a feeling of drunkenness and the words came out of his mouth the moment he thought of them. "Clay, your eyes," he said in a whisper. "They're so pretty." Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Niki drag Sapnap away quietly by the arm and covered his mouth with a hand when the younger boy tried to protest, leaving him and Clay alone. 

"Really?" Clay's own voice dropped to a whisper as well as his mouth curved into a grin. "You think they're pretty?" 

"Yeah," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth without restraint. "Every part of you is beautiful." 

Clay's face reddened slightly under George's hand. "I think you're beautiful too, George." The blonde took the hand that was on his face and squeezed it tightly. "Want to see something else?" 

"I want to see every color in the world," he replied. Laughing, Clay took his hand and they walked out of the medbay, back to the elevator. Clay pressed the R button and the elevator immediately zoomed upwards. George watched through the glass as the ground rose higher and higher away from them.

Finally, the elevator stopped and deposited them out onto the rooftop of the Tribute Center. Without missing a beat, Clay dragged him to the flat expanse of grass in the center of the rooftop. 

"Look, George," he said when they reached the green grass. "Look at it all."

In the grass, there were hundreds upon hundreds of flowers, red, purple, orange, blue, yellow, and more, all the colors that George could see and couldn't see before. his hand slipping out of Clay's, he walked through them wondrously before kneeling down in the middle and delicately touched the petals of a red rose. "There's so much," he whispered in awe. "They're so beautiful."

"Here." Clay kneeled down next to him and plucked a blue flower out of the ground. He held out it out to him. "You told me your favorite color was blue." 

Had he? At the moment, he couldn't remember. But it was true that his favorite color was blue. And Clay had taken the time to remember that fact. His face felt warm as he took the offering and gazed at the bright sapphire plant in his hand. "Thanks." He turned to Clay and smiled. "I don't want to leave." He wasn't sure if he meant the flowers or Clay. 

"So let's not." And that was just what they did. Laughing in the field of nature's jewels and finally falling asleep in the grass, hands interlocked tightly over the other's as if it was a silent promise of some sort. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in the span of a few hours and my fingers feel absolutely destroyed. The things I do for my dose of serotonin and will do again  
> XD. 
> 
> As always, leave a comment if you want to say anything, and kudos if you like.


	6. Dance in Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. This chapter wasn't supposed to be very long in my head but in the end, it turned into this 7k monster XD!  
> Hope you enjoy!

"Rise and shine, boys." The sound of a voice penetrated the fog of sleep in George's mind. He felt so comfortable and warm in his bed and he wished the voice would go away but more words came floating into his consciousness. "Seriously, George, get up or Phil's going to call the Peacekeepers." 

At the mention of the Capitol's soldiers, George shot straight up. For a few seconds, he was partially blinded by how bright and colorful his surroundings were. His world was no longer only a mass of yellow, gray, and blue but also every color that he couldn't see before. As he regained his vision, he realized he wasn't in fact in his bed or even in his room but instead on a field of grass and flowers. 

"What's going on?" Clay's slurred voice sounded out next to him and George turned to see the boy blinking in the bright sunlight shining on them. 

"Jesus, did you two really spend the entire night out here?" George looked up to see Fundy standing over them, apparently, the one who had woken them up, his bright orange hair swaying in the faint wind. The man had a mixture of amusement and concern on his face as he stared down at him and Clay. "We were worried when you didn't show up last night or this morning, but it looks like everything's fine." The man glanced down and George blushed when he realized his hand was still tightly gripping Clay's. He quickly released his grip, shaking out his hand to get some blood flowing back into it from Clay's death grip. "More than fine, it seems." 

"What time is it?" His brain was still disoriented from sleep and he was trying to get a sense of what was happening. His recollection of last night's events was hazy but he remembered coming up here to the rooftop immediately with Clay after his operation. And then falling asleep with the boy in the flower field. 

"It's 9:55," Fundy answered. "Did you forget? Today's the day all the tributes get a private session with the Gamemakers. You're supposed to be down in the gymnasium in fifteen minutes." He turned to Clay and added, "And you too, District 7."

"Oh, crap." George quickly scrambled to his feet and tried futilely to smooth out the wrinkles in his grass-stained clothes. Beside him, Clay also seemed to have woken up and realized the predicament they were in. His clothes were also stained with grass and dirt but his hair and face didn't look like he had spent the night sleeping in hard-packed dirt, unlike his own. "We need to get down there now." 

"Woah, slow down." Fundy took him by the arm and stopped his attempts to clean his clothes. "It's fine, the Gamemakers don't start seeing the tributes until after lunch. You need to clean yourself up and look presentable. And you need to eat breakfast." The chaperone walked back in the direction of the elevator. "I'll give you a minute but you better hurry up." 

"Well, that was awkward," Clay said, once the orange-haired man was out of hearing. 

"Tell me about it." His face still felt warm and he mentally slapped himself to get a grip. "I can't believe you actually spent the entire night sleeping here with me." 

"If I remembered correctly, someone said he didn't want to leave and what was I going to do, leave you here alone?" Clay gave him a smirk, his eyes glittering. "And I also remember someone saying I was pret-mmph!"

"Shut up, shut up!" George's hand was clapped over Clay's mouth, his face flushing again from the hazy drugged memories. "That wasn't me talking, that was the drugs!" 

The blonde gave him a sad puppy look as he removed the hand over his mouth. "Really?" he said in an exaggerated hurt voice. "You don't think I'm pretty?" His vibrant green eyes were wide and his lips trembled playfully, and damn if George didn't find it at least a bit cute. But he had his dignity to uphold.

"Nope, you're ugly" he answered, smirking. "Not even the slightest bit pretty." At those words, Clay's face drooped even further and he dropped his head in the very image of depression, sniffling like a five-year-old. Stifling a laugh at the blonde's antics, George conceded. "Fine, fine, you're not ugly, Clay, you're beautiful. You're a pretty princess." 

Clay's head whipped up, his eyes sparkling. "I'm a pretty princess?" he asked in a wondrous voice. 

"Yes, you are. You're the prettiest princess." He patted Clay's face and pinched his cheeks. "Who's my pretty princess?" he cooed in a voice he would use addressing a pet. "Who's my precious princess?" 

"Okay, that got a lot weirder than I thought it would," Clay said in his normal voice, laughing. His face was slightly red and George knew his own was as well as he laughed with Clay. But it was still nice to goof around even it was weird and definitely something he would do in from of anyone else. 

"I should go back down now before my chaperone comes up with a squad of Peacekeepers," George said when they calmed down. He didn't particularly want to leave the blonde which was stupid because he would be seeing him again soon. 

"You're right we probably should. Hopefully, my mentor isn't going to be too pissed." They started walking back to the elevator, stepping from the artificial grassland into the concrete. They got into the car and it began moving downwards. "But before I go..." The blonde's voice trailed off and opened his arms in an unmistakable invitation. 

Automatically, George walked into the embrace and wrapped his own arm around Clay as the boy did the same to him. The hug was tight in a comforting way, the scent of grass and pines enveloping George. They stayed like that until the elevator stopped at the blonde's floor and Clay gave him one last tight squeeze before letting go. "See you later."

"Yeah." The door closed behind Clay and within seconds, he reached his own floor. 

In the dining room, Phil and Fundy were sitting at the table, talking, though it was clear they had been waiting for him. The instant he walked in, Phil stood up and came over, concern in his eyes. "Are you okay? Fundy said you were okay, but why didn't you showed up last night or this morning?" 

George raised an eyebrow at the orange-haired man, who gave him a shrug. "I didn't tell Phil. It's probably better if you explained it," he said with a tiny smirk.

"Where's Niki?" George asked, looking around for his friend who would surely come to his defense. 

"Niki already down at the gym, where you've should be right now. But that's not important right now. What happened?" Phil pressed. "I was told your operation was successful but you never showed up."

George tried to explain as quickly as he could. "Yeah, it worked. I wanted to test out my new vision so I went to the rooftop flower garden and I guess I'd, just, fell asleep there." 

"With the District 7 tribute, might I add," Fundy chimed in, lazily stirring sugar into his cup. 

"You slept with the District 7 tribute?" Phil asked incredulously. "Look, George, I know you're eighteen and legally an adult, but still. Did you at least use protection?"

"Woah, woah, what?" His face grew violently hot as he realized what Phil was saying. "No, we just slept! We did not have, you know, the thing!" He had expected to be reprimanded for not coming back to his floor, not to be accused of having sex. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to disappear back into his room, away from the implied accusation and stern looks. 

His mentor's face told him he wasn't entirely convinced but he didn't press the issue. "Fine, I'll take your word for it, but do you know how worried I was when you didn't show up?" Phil sighed and sat back down in a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "When you didn't show up and they told me everything was fine, I thought something had gone wrong. Like Jesus, I almost called the Peacekeepers but Niki said you were fine and you'll be back soon."

George was torn at how he was feeling right now. Now that the conversation had shifted in a more desirable direction, Phil's concern and anxiety touched him but also made him a little exasperated. If he had any parents, he figured he would've felt like this daily. But he still appreciated how much the man seemed like a father figure to him right now.

After apologizing and being ordered to make himself looked presentable, he ducked into his room and quickly showered, brushed his teeth, and changed into clothes that were identical to the ones he wore yesterday. Coming back into the dining room, he ate as fast as he could before going down to the underground training center. 

As he walked in, the other tributes were already working at the stations. The Careers were taking turns sparing with the instructor in melee combat, except Techno who was lazily throwing knives at the target range and yet still managing to hit the bulls-eye every single time. Other tributes were scattered around the gym, learning basic survival skills, or learning how to use a sword or spear. 

Niki and Sapnap were at the spear-throwing station, alternating shots. It was clear that Niki was much better at this than Sapnap was. Her board was riddled with holes, some of them even in the center of the target. Niki always had a good instinct for distance and accuracy, George knew, from the games they played in gym classes back in District 3. He was sure her talent would get her a high score during the private sessions. 

"Oh, look who decided to show up," Sapnap said as he walked over. The brunette selected a thin spear from the rack and tossed another one to him. George caught the weapon feeling the balanced weight in his hand. "Where's Clay?" 

"Still on his floor, I'm guessing." He stepped up to the range and drew his arm back before throwing the spear as hard as he could. The projectile flew through the forty-yard distance before sticking in the wall, inches from the actual target. Sapnap clapped and cheered sarcastically while an assistant retrieved the spear and sent it back down through the conveyer belt. 

Niki elbowed the younger boy into silence and turned to him. "Was Phil mad at you? I said you'll be fine when you didn't show up yesterday night but I think that just made him more anxious." 

"He wasn't really mad, just worried," he reassured her. "And like he needed a drink, to be honest." 

Niki gave a short laugh. "Well, at least you're not in trouble." Sapnap tossed her the spear he was holding and she took her position at the range. 

"I'm still made you guys ditched me yesterday," Sapnap said, crossing his arms and frowning at him, though his eyes showed that he wasn't really angry. "I hope you two had fun without me." 

"Aw, is little Sapitius Napitius sad 'cause he couldn't play with the big boys?" George cooed in a chirpy voice. "Does little Sappy-poo need a hug?" 

"Call me any of those names again and I'll punt your ass off the top of this building, don't think I won't," the younger boy threatened. "But, yeah, please?" 

Smiling, George opened his arms and Sapnap practically tackled him. For a moment, George thought he was going to fall over but he righted himself and squeezed the brunette tightly. He could feel the prominent edges of the boy's spine against his hand as they embraced. Sapnap may be tall but he was rather thin. No wonder Clay always encouraged him to eat more and gave him extra servings at lunch. Someone like Sapnap, who looked so vulnerable in his arms, didn't deserve to live in a world like this, where the privileged hoarded all the bounty of the earth while children like them starved, not to mention being brought to this place to be slaughtered for entertainment. George wanted to protect the boy in his arms, make sure nothing would ever hurt him. 

_But you can't_ , a voice in the back of his brain hissed. George quickly shoved that part of his brain down, silencing the truth he already knew but didn't want to hear. 

"So what did you two do after I left?" Sapnap asked when they broke apart. The two of them leaned against the rack of spears, watching Niki practice on the human targets. 

"We went up to the rooftop garden," he replied, as one of Niki's spear punched through a target's heart. "Have you been up there?" Sapnap shook his head. "There was this huge grass field with like hundreds of flowers, and we pretty much just trampled half of them." 

"And that was all you did?" Sapnap's eyebrows rose as a wide smirk split his face. "Come on now, George, be honest." 

"Well, we did fall asleep on the roof," he admitted. The younger boy continued to give him that same disbelieving look. "What? That's it. What were you expected?" 

"Something a bit more exciting than just you two falling asleep in a bunch of flowers," Niki said, as she walked over. 

"Yeah, like come on, George," Sapnap added, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I bet CLay tried to kiss you and you chickened out." 

"Wha-no!" George spluttered, as his face flushed. He wasn't that bad, was he? Had Clay really tried to kiss him? To be honest, all he could remember last night was laughter, a blur of colors, and Clay's hand in his. 

"What did you two do to get George so flustered?" He whipped around to find lay standing behind him, a bemused smile on his face. His blonde hair still glistened with water and his emerald eyes flickered to George's before looking at their friends. "His face looks like it's going to melt." 

"Oh, we just asked how your little date went and George said you guys just slept," Sapnap replied with a little shrug and smirk on his face. 

"Well, it's true," Clay replied, lifting a spear from the stand. "All we did was hold hands and sleep." 

"Wow, you guys are boring," Sapnap quipped with a dramatic yawn. He walked over to the station's control panel and flipped through the configurations. "Hey, Niki, help me get the moving holograms again. Those were cool." 

As Niki moved over to help Sapnap, Clay came up to him and brushed a hand against his. "Are you okay? Your face still looks like it's going to explode." 

"I'll be fine," he mumbled, rubbing his face to get rid of the color in his cheeks. "I blush so easily and then my face turns into a tomato." 

"You're cute when you blush," Clay said in a lower voice with a wink as his arm came around his waist. Which only made George's blush return with a vengeance. "Honestly." 

"Oh my god, shut up," George grumbled, shoving the laughing blonde away. Seriously, it had to be unhealthy, the number of times he had blushed in such a short span of time. 

For the rest of the training session, they exchanged shots at the targets, which were now running orange humanoid projections. A direct hit to the figures caused them to burst apart while a spear to the limbs would only blow the appendage into tiny orange cubes. He wasn't bad at it, but his shots tend to fall short or just barely miss. Though with Clay's and Niki's advice, he was confident he could hit something if it was within thirty yards. 

After a couple of hours of throwing, he joined Sapnap, who had a hard enough time hitting stationary targets and only progressed without much improvement, and Niki, who had a knack for turning the targets into a mess of orange bit, on a nearby bench. His arm was aching from the exterior and he leaned back against the cool metal wall, contributing occasionally to his friends' conversation about their different district's schools. But most of his attention was on Clay. 

The blonde's expression never seemed to change, always with that hint of a smile on his lips even as he chucked spears into holographic humans. His sleeves were rolled up, displaying his biceps. George watched as the muscles in Clay's arm tensed before every shot and the way sweat glittered on the blonde's tanned skin. He was so observed in watching the boy, he didn't realize that Sapnap and Niki had gone silent until Sapnap elbowed him in the ribs. 

George jumped and spun to see both of his friends looking at him with amused looks on their faces. "What was that for?"

"You were staring at Clay for like five minutes and you didn't even notice us watching you practically drooling over him," Sapnap replied. "You're so freakin' whipped." 

"I know," George said with a groan. Normally, he would never admit it so easily but he trusted Niki and Sapnap not to laugh at him. 

"I don't understand," Niki said, leaning over Sapnap. "Clay clearly likes and you can't even deny you like him. So why are you still hesitating to show him that?" 

"Maybe because there's no chance of both of getting to the end of this alive together?" George could feel bitterness and the injustice of it all welling up inside of him. "Only one of us can live and nothing can change that."

"That hasn't stopped Clay," Niki pressed on. "He's thrown himself into you from the moment you two met, even though he knows the truth. He's already made his intentions clear and now he's waiting for your answer." 

Sapnap chimed in. "Are you just going to leave him hanging forever?" The younger boy gave him an uncharacteristically severe look. "The clock's ticking George, and every second you waste ain't ever coming back." 

"Live in the present, George." Niki took one of his hands and squeezed it tightly. "Don't be blind to the truth but also, don't let it control what you do." 

He knew his friends were right, as usual. Just because he promised to bring Niki back alive even if it means his death and everyone else's didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the remainder of his life. "Thanks, guys," he said in a quiet voice. "You're both right." 

"'Course we are," Sapnap said matter-of-factly. "Friends help each other. It's what we do." He looked down at his and Niki's gripped hands. "But don't expect me to hold your clammy-ass hand." 

The emotional moment disappeared as they laughed. Clay looked over with a questioning look, and George simply smiled back. The blonde shook his head and turned away, but not before George saw the smile on his face. A white towel was shoved into his hand and he turned to see Niki look at him with an expecting expression. "You know what to do." 

Sighing dramatically, George stood up and walked over to Clay, who was rearranging the spears on the rack. "You should take a break," he said, holding out the soft towel. "Your arm's going to break if you keep throwing." 

"Thanks." The blonde wiped off the sweat on his face. "My arms are fine. This is nothing compared to chopping trees for hours. it feels nice to get them burning and pumping." 

"You like feeling your arms burn?" George said, with a laugh.

"When you say it like that, you make me sound weird." The sound of a bell rang out throughout the gym, signaling the start of lunch. All the tributes started making their way across the room toward the door leading to the dining hall.

"You are weird." George slipped his hand into the taller boy's, feeling the fingers jump before curling around his. He smiled up at Clay's surprised face. "Come on let's go eat." 

As they reached Niki and Sapnap who were waiting for them, he saw the blonde girl give him a discrete thumbs-up. He smiled to himself, grateful to have such supportive friends who would slap some sense into him. 

Lunch was a quiet affair as they tried to decide what they would show to the Gamemakers during their private sessions. 

"I think I'll just play around with the axes," Clay said thoughtfully, as he twirled a strand of thin noodles on his fork. 

"Probably your best bet," Sapnap said. The previous day, Clay had shown them his ax-throwing skills and it was terrifying how the blonde could accurately destroy targets after targets with the heavy weapons. "I have no idea what I'm going to do."

"Run the obstacle course," Clay said immediately. "They'll see you're fast and balanced on your feet." 

"That's a plan," the younger boy mused, his mouth full of beef. "Unless I trip and break my neck." 

"Probably dock a couple of points for that," George said as they laughed. "I'll probably try hacking using one of the stations' controls panel." Despite Phil's advice to keep his talent discreet, he knew he could trust Clay and Sapnap. "Don't know how that'll work out."

"You'll be fine," Niki said. "I checked the control panels and I'm pretty positive you can use that to break into the gym's system."

"And you'll be throwing knives, right?" he asked her. 

"Yeah," she replied. "Hopefully that'll get me a decent score."

After an hour, the tributes were instructed to stay in the dining room while they waited to be called. After their sessions, they were to go back to their own floor, the trainer said. The District 1 male tribute was called from the room and before George knew it, they were calling his name. 

"Good luck," Niki and Sapnap said. Clay squeezed his hand reassuringly under the table and giving him an encouraging smile before letting go. 

Nervously, he pushed open the heavy metal doors into the gymnasium. Without the various tributes walking around or their voices in the air, the spacious room looked too empty and more intimidating than before. Upon the balcony, the Gamemakers, who had been generally ignoring the tributes, were now focused on him with expectant gazes. 

"You may start now, Mr. Davidson," the same silver-haired Gamemaker from before called out. "You have thirty minutes to present your skill." 

Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the panel of the knife-throwing station and pulled up the standard interface and transparent keyboard. And then he used the strategy he always did when breaking into a system he shouldn't be in.

First, he pulled up the lines and lines of code on the screen and examined the entire thing. _Don't focus on one part,_ he told himself. _Look at the entire thing. Find the weak links in the pattern and break in through there_. It was a strategy he had discovered when he first started coding and hacking. He wouldn't focus on just one line of gibberish but instead, he would take in everything, and tried to find where there was a break in the pattern, the point where the protection was thinnest. 

The gym's system looked intimidating at first, with chains and chains of code on the screen, but it had numerous holes in the firewall. They were small and an inexperienced hacker would've probably missed them. But George had years of experience under his belt and his eyes spot the hole immediately. He imputed a simple break-in code and after a minute or so, he was able to jack into the system. 

The lines of code disappeared on his screen to be replaced with the controls for the lights, security cameras, various station controls, and even the generator for the barrier that the Gamemakers had placed between themselves and the rest of the gym. He could several curious whispers behind him and he smile to himself. Now he could have some fun. 

First, he booted up the station's controls, and immediately, orange holograms popped up in all the weapon stations, moving to his commands. Surprised yells rang out as he commanded all the holograms to collapse into themselves and then reform. He had the various figures fight amongst themselves, breaking each other and reviving them. That continued for several minutes and he chanced a glance at the balcony. The Gamemakers were feverishly taking notes and they watched the various battles in awed silence. 

Finally, George turned off all the lights in the gym except the one he was under. The room was in darkness except for the faintly glowing orange holograms and his spotlight. Now was the part where he was most anxious about. He turned around and faced the Gamemakers, waiting for their reaction. 

For a minute, they simply stared at each other, the tribute and the Gamemakers. "Well this is something we've never seen before," the silver-haired man said finally, his finger resting thoughtfully on his chin. "Certainly interesting. Certainly, something to consider. But for now, Mr. Davidson, you're dismissed."

Silently, George gave a nod and he turned off the holograms and restored the lights in the gymnasium. Quickly, he exited the gym but it wasn't until he entered the elevator that he allowed himself to feel relieved. 

The Gamemakers hadn't immediately dismissed his talent! In fact, they had been interested and, he thinks, impressed by it. Maybe, just maybe, he could earn a high enough score to stand a chance. 

Back on his floor, he found Phil sitting at the table tapping away on a tablet. The moment he entered the room, the blonde man looked up from the screen. "Done with your private session already?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice. "Did they say anything about what you did?" 

Goerge pulled a chair out and sat down. "I think it went pretty well. They were definitely interested and one of them said they would consider it." 

"That's great." Phil grinned and clapped him on the back. "I'm sure you'll get a good score when they display all the scores at the party tonight." 

"Party?" George racked his brain, trying to remember if any of the clips of the Hunger Games that were replayed back in District 3 had anything about a party. He was pretty sure that he hadn't seen any tributes attend a party before, at least not until after the Games. 

Before Phil could respond, a second voice joined their conversation. "Oh, it's just a little private occasion that the Gamemakers throw every year after the private sessions." George turned around to find Fundy walking from the elevator. "The wealthiest people in the Capitol and sometimes, even the president attend them so it's a chance for you tributes to get some good sponsors. And of course, they'll show your score around the end of the party." The orange-haired man picked up a glass of sparkling juice from one of the attending Avoxes before sitting down. "Give them a little insight into how favorable you are."

"Do I need to dress up?" Secretly, he hoped Eret had more of that holo-fiber material that had been such a hit during the opening ceremony. If he could attract some wealthy sponsors, his chances of staying alive would be that much better. 

"Kind of. You just need to wear a suit, nothing fancy or extravagant," Fundy replied. "We'll be there too, show you to some people, make some friends, you know." 

"Right." That sounded like torture to George. Nothing, in his opinion, was worse than having to make small talk or be friendly with people he hated. The wealthiest people in the Capitol probably held some position of power and to some degree, supported the Games that he was currently trapped in. He didn't want to go around, acting friendly with those who had sentenced children to death year after year, and treated it as if it was a celebration. 

"You should get some sleep, George," Phil added. "You couldn't have been comfortable sleeping on dirt yesterday and you'll want to keep your bearings when meeting these people." 

As if on cue, a yawn forced its way past his throat. Phil chuckled and good-naturedly shooed him toward his room. George didn't protest and he slinked back to his room, sinking into his soft covers. _At least, I'll get to see Clay again tonight,_ he thought drowsily, as his brain started shutting down. _Maybe this party wouldn't be so bad._

\----|}{|----

He had been wrong. The party wasn't bad. It was horrible. 

Ever since he had arrived on the ground floor of the Tribute Center, where it had been decorated in a festive mood, he had been dragged off by Fundy along with Niki and Phil, to meet surgically altered faces, one after another. Some of the altercations were so grotesque, like flatten noses, narrow pinched faces, cat whiskers, that he had to physically refrain himself from pulling away when they shook his hand or came close to him. 

And to top it off, he was bored out of his mind. Fundy had said it would be a chance for them to meet some influential people but really, it felt like he and Niki were just Fundy's pets that the man was dragging around as he tried to cozy up with these individuals. He tried to be polite and smile when the occasion presented himself but his hatred and boredom was threatening to make an appearance in a few rude words and swears.

Finally, after an hour of being dragged around, Fundy mercifully released them from his side. 

“Thank god, that’s over,” he grumbled when the orange-haired man was out of earshot. Phil had disappeared to who knows where long ago and George didn’t blame him. In fact, if his survival wasn’t possibly riding on this event, he would’ve joined the blonde man. 

“That was the worst,” Niki agreed. She looked great in her light blue dress, her face was dusted with a light layer of makeup and a thin chain of sapphires around her neck. “Some of them even touched my arm and sides.”

“Yeah.” He had felt his fair share of curious touches from these people and it was not a pleasant experience. “Come on, I saw a buffet over there, I think.” 

Sure enough, there was a long table of displayed food that people were picking away at. George grabbed a plate and he walked down the line, piling whatever caught his attention. By the time he reached the end of the buffet table, his plate was filled with an assortment of chicken skewers, cubes of grilled steak, bright vegetables, and yellow noodles. 

“Wow, hungry much?” Niki smirked as she looked at his overflowing plate. 

“You know me, whenever I have to socialize, I get bored and hungry.” He scanned the few tables that were set out. Most of them were filled with a mixture of nervous tributes and Capitol people, which he wanted to stay away from. There was one practically empty table, except for one familiar pink-haired tribute. “Come on, let’s sit over there.” 

They weaved their way around the diners until they reached the table. “Can we sit here?” he asked. 

Techno looked up and shrugged. “There’s nothing here stopping you.” 

“Except your glaring eyes,” George said. It was true. Techno’s eyes were narrowed in distaste toward anyone that got too close, effectively scaring off both tributes and Capitol citizens. 

“Not my problem people are scared easily.” The boy tore off a piece of beef from his skewer. 

“Uh-huh.” George sat down and after a moment’s hesitation, Niki also sat down warily. 

“So, how’re you doing?” Techno asked, a smirk on his face. “Everything still fine and dandy with your boyfriend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” George replied, picking away at his food. He scanned the crowd of people looking for a certain blonde head. 

“Looking for him? Last I saw him, he had a freakishly-looking girl trying to cling on to him,” Techno said in a bored voice, tipping his chair back. “At least, I think it was a girl. Hard to tell with everything they wear around here.” 

“Thanks,” he grumbled. “What about you? Did you actually talk to anyone tonight or have you just been sitting here like a loner?” 

“They tried to get me to talk and be nice and all, but after a few minutes, I snapped at this fat dude who had the most nauseating voice I’ve ever heard and just walked off,” Techno replied. “So yeah, I’ve pretty much been sitting here the entire time.” 

“Lucky you,” Niki said glumly, poking at her food. “We got dragged around like a couple of dogs for hours, talking and smiling. And these heels are the most painful thing I’ve worn.” 

“Sucks to suck,” Techno said, simply. “You guys should’ve just left as I did.” 

“I wish we had. But then our chaperone probably would’ve murdered us for ruining his chance at getting in with the big-shots,” George replied. Niki laughed but surprisingly, so did Techno. It was quite a contrast from his usual monotone voice and made him seem more human. 

“George, you better not be flirting with another guy.” George turned to see Sapnap and Clay standing behind them, plates in their hands. “I don’t think Clay would be happy about that,” Sapnap said, as they sat down. 

“Sorry, I don’t swing that way,” Techno responded. “But thanks for the offer.” 

“What the hell, this guy actually has a sense of humor,” Sapnap said with a grin. “I like him already.” He picked up his fork and pointed it at George. “Besides, there’s no way George would ever look at another guy. He’s too much of a simp for Clay.” 

“Nothing wrong with simping.” Clay scooted closer to him and smiled. “As long as I’m the person you’re simping for.” 

“Oh, wow you two are hilarious,” he replied dryly. “You know in the arena, you two should do a comedy routine and just watch as your enemies suffocate from laughing.” 

Their table dissolved into laughter, earning strange looks from just about everyone nearby. Now that he was in the company of his friends again as well as an enemy/friend, the night seemed to go by a lot faster. The rest of the party might as well not have existed for all the attention they gave. For the moment, it was nice to pretend that they were just teenagers who were just doing what bored teenagers did at a party, laughing and having fun with their friends.

"Ahem." The call for attention echoed across the room over the quiet music and chattering voices. At the front stage, a Gamemaker was at the mic. "We will now display the scores for the tributes of the Ninety-Eighth Hunger Games."

A large holographic screen plinked into existence, displaying the seal of Panem briefly before the individual scores for each tribute were shown. 

Predictably, the tributes from District 1 and 2 received high scores, from an eight to a ten. But Techno must've done something impressive because, under his image, the number eleven was flashing. 

"Eat that, losers," he commented with a smirk as loud applause rang out across the room. Some of the nearby Capitol people were giving him a new appreciative look.

The scores continued and before he could blink or have time to be nervous, his photo was on the screen, exhibiting the number nine. 

"Let's go, George!" Clay yelled over the audience's applause and cheers. Sapnap was whacking him on the back and Niki gave him a brilliant smile.

Now that his score was set in stone, the screen seemed to flash by faster. Niki received an eight, which prompted more cheering. Clay received a ten, unsurprisingly. _The Gamemakers_ _should've given him an eleven_ , George thought as he congratulated the blonde. More and more tributes flashed on the screen, the majority of them receiving scores from seven to three. Sapnap received a seven, a great score for someone his size and weight. The screen flashed the seal again before closing out. 

"Well, that's that," Clay said, as the audience's chattering returned. 

"Yeah," Sapnap replied. "Now we know where we stand in terms of sponsorship."

"With me at the top," Techno added pointedly.

"Wow, you couldn't resist making the rest of us feel inferior, could you?" Niki shot at him. The pink-haired tribute simply gave an innocent shrug and smile. 

The music, quiet before, now gradually swelled to a louder volume until it was practically vibrating the floor underneath them. More and more people were joining the dancers and George was content to simply watch the bright clothes of the spinning figures mix into each other. But Clay had other plans. 

Clay’s hand touched his softly underneath the table and he turned to the blonde. “Come on,” he said in a low voice, leaning over to George’s ear. “Let’s dance.” 

George followed Clay as they both stood up, ignoring Sapnap and Techno’s knowing smirks and whistles. The blonde led him past the mass of weaving dancers and toward the elevators. “Um, the dance’s floor is right here? Or is there another party I don’t know about?” 

“No, well kind of,” Clay replied. Both of them got into the car and the blonde pressed the button to ascend to the roof. 

“You’re not making any sense but okay.” Clay’s hand was warm in his and reassuringly steady as always. The blonde always held his hand tightly, like he was afraid George would let go prematurely. Which he had no intention to, not now or ever.

The rooftop was empty when they stepped out of the car. Either he had been more drugged than he realized last night or someone had added speakers to the roof because there was a quiet twinkling sound that he didn’t notice before. Clay held out his hand over his waist as if asking for permission. “Is this what you meant by another party?” George asked, smiling, placing a hand on the blonde’s broad shoulder. “If it is, it’s a pretty lonely one.” 

“Too crowded downstairs,” Clay replied, lightly holding his waist and pulling them closer. “And too loud.” 

“Dancing with no music?” George could feel the boy’s heartbeat through the fabrics of their suits and he was sure his face was turning red in the lantern lights. 

“We’ll dance to the music of the wind and sky.” Slowly, they began to sway in place, revolving a simple and yet intimate rhythm. 

“Didn’t know you were such a sentimental person,” George whispered, his face almost pressed against Clay’s shoulder. 

“Only for you.” George couldn’t see the boy’s face but he knew the blonde was smiling. “You know, I didn’t want to say it in front of everyone downstairs, but you look nice in a suit.”

“You look nice too,” he replied. “But then again, you always look nice.” In a normal situation, he would’ve never been able to pull off such a smooth compliment without stammering awkwardly but the intimate and quiet atmosphere gave him courage. 

“I know,” Clay said. George looked up, about to roll his eyes in exasperation when the blonde leaned down, the boy’s breath warm against his face. “And so do you,” he whispered before softly covering George’s lips with his own. 

It wasn’t a passionate or even a romantic kiss, just a simple brush of lips and breaths but, nonetheless, it sent George’s heart into overdrive. His hand gripped Clay’s tightly as his eyes fluttered shut and he returned it. Their lips moved against the other’s and for some inexplicable reason, the taste of salt entered George’s mouth. 

Clay broke the kiss and he looked down at him with concerned green eyes. “George, are you okay?” His hand came up to gently brush George’s cheek, coming away wet. It was then, George realized he had tears streaming down his face and the feeling of a broken heart beating in his chest. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” Choking down a sob, George let go of Clay’s hand. His tears were coming thick and fast now, hot against his skin as he tried futilely to wipe them away. Everything he had been keeping at bay, all the thoughts, the truth, came washing over him. He couldn’t keep up this fantasy, and despite his friends’ advice, he couldn’t ignore the inevitable path his future led to. “I can’t pretend anymore, Clay.” 

“George…” The blonde stepped forward and opened his arms but for once, George stepped back. 

“I’ve been ignoring everything that’s been staring me in the face, but now I can’t.” His words were tumbling out, along with his emotions. “Because I like you, Clay. I like you so much, much more than I should,” he said, wrapping his arms around himself to try to hold his shattered self together. “And I want to spend all the life I haven’t lived with you. All the hours, days, years. But I can’t. We can’t. I made a promise, Clay. There can only be one victor. And it’s not going to be you or me.” 

There was a long terrible silence that seemed to draw out forever. Through his tears, George could see the expression on Clay’s face and it was the most heart-breaking thing he had ever seen. There was so much hurt, so much pain on it and George wanted desperately to undo what he had done. But he couldn’t and he wouldn’t. 

“Please,” he whispered, looking down at the ground as his tears splattered against the concrete. “Go away, Clay.” 

The blonde continued to stare at him for another second before replying in an emotionless tone. “If that’s what you want.” And he was gone, his words the only thing left in the air. With no one around to see him, George finally collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably into his knees as he tried to reconcile with the loss of his last source of comfort in the world.

\----|}{|----

“George?” 

His name sounded out, distorted by the door, from outside his room, accompanied by a knock, and he jumped slightly. It was around three in the morning and the lights from the cityscape outside his window leaked in, illuminating his prone figure at the table. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing that terrible expression on Clay’s face and he had immediately given up on sleeping, sitting in a chair instead. His tears had dried up, nothing but the taste of salt in his mouth and the new numbness in his heart to show it ever existed. 

He walked over to his door and opened it slightly to see who his fellow insomniac was. Surprisingly, it was Phil who was standing outside his door. “Phil?” 

“Sorry for waking you up,” the blonde man said sheepishly. “But can we talk?” 

“Sure,” he said listlessly. 

“Do you want to go to the roof?” the man asked him and he shrugged. Together, they quietly boarded the elevator and rode up to the rooftop in silence. It wasn’t until they arrived and were standing at the railing that lined the perimeter that Phil said anything. “Are you okay, George? And don’t say anything like, ‘I’m fine.’ You’ve been crying, haven’t you?” 

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” George knew he was being rude but he couldn’t find the heart to care anymore. He gazed out at the bright city and now knew that beauty hid an equal amount of darkness and evil.

“No, but I’m your mentor and caretaker for a reason,” the man replied. “What happened? You can tell me, I won’t judge.”

It was as if that was the invitation his brain needed to spill everything. All the pent-up emotions and thoughts came flooding out again. He talked about how he had managed to find friends in a place where friendship was supposed to be impossible and how he had gone even further and fallen for Clay. He confessed about his promise to Wilbur and how it was so much harder to keep it now. But most of all, he talked about how he didn’t know what to do. 

“What do I do, Phil?” he asked, his voice quiet and trembling, “I don’t want any of them to die. Not Sapnap, not Clay, and not even Techno. They’re not fighters or monsters. They’re just kids and my friends. I don’t want to lose any of them.” 

Phil was silent for a minute but when he did finally speak, George whipped around in confusion, sure his ears must’ve misheard what the man said. “What did you say?” 

The victor turned toward him with a collected and yet determined expression. “What if I told you there was a way…” he said evenly. “...to save them all?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to ask, do you guys actually like the images I put at the end? I love to hear your opinions on them!


	7. Savior's Ovation

"What are you talking about?" George was in disbelief. Save them all? There was no way to do that. Not in the situation they were currently in. Only one could survive. That had been the precedent for years and years. That was how the Hunger Games worked. That was what George had been working with, that at the most, one person would come out of this alive. "What do you mean there's a way to save them all?" 

“Exactly what it means,” Phil replied, not a single trace of falsehood in his blue eyes. “There is a way that would allow more than one of you to live.” 

“How?” George stepped closer, his voice rising in volume. His mentality was already frayed from the events that had occurred and the idea of there being a way out of the terrible predicament he was in right now made his heart pound faster. He stared unflinchingly into Phil’s eyes and he knew the man could see the desperation in them. “How can I save them? Tell me!” A note of the distress he was feeling crept into his voice. 

“Not here,” Phil said, a hand gripping his shoulder tightly. With a start, George remembered where they were and how even now, every one of his actions might be recorded. His face must’ve shown his panic because the blonde man hurriedly added. “You’re fine. There are cameras up here but right now, they’re disabled. None of this conversation is being recorded either. But it’s still too risky to talk more in-depth in an open space like this where anyone can just come up.” George relaxed and his mentor’s hand released its grip. “I brought you up here tonight to give you the bare minimum of the details. Tomorrow, the tributes have the entire day to prep for their interview. Give me an answer then, and if you agree, I can tell you.” 

They climbed back into the elevator and descended back toward their floor. “I want you to think about what I’ve told you.” Phil continued. “Think hard, and make a concrete decision.” He patted George’s shoulder lightly. “Go to sleep, George. And remember, your instincts will tell you who to trust and who is your enemy.” If anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation, they would probably assume the words were simply a pep talk between tribute and mentor. Or at least that was what George hoped it seemed like.

Back in his own room and curled in his bed, under the sheets, George sorted through what Phil told him in his mind. To defy the Hunger Games was to defy the Capitol. The Games were their masterpiece, their way of reminding the districts just how powerless they were. If someone was able to break the system, break the iron-clad rules that have stood for almost a century, it could very well inspire an uprising. And now it seemed that there was someone who was going to do just that. 

Phil told him to think hard before making his decision, but in the end, he didn’t have to think very hard. George already knew what his answer would be the moment he stepped out of the elevator. If there was even the slightest hint of a chance to keep all of his friends, then he knew what he had to do. _I can save us all_ , he told himself, curling tighter around himself in the bed. _We can all survive._ And with that thought, he felt something that he hadn’t felt properly since he had boarded the train to the Capitol. 

Hope. 

\----|}{|----

"Is it safe to talk here?" George asked as he sat down in one of the chairs on the balcony of Phil's room. During breakfast, it was decided that Fundy would work with Niki and Phil with George in preparation for the interview. But George had no intention of actually practicing for the interview. 

"Yes, it's safe. All the microphones and cameras in this room are reconfigured to not pick up anything incriminating." Phil replied, taking a seat across him. "At least, that's what my team had done." His piercing blue eyes looked into George's brown ones. "So, have you made your decision?" 

"I'm in." George stared back determinedly. "If there's a way to save everyone, then I'll take that chance." There was no question that this was the right choice. And it wasn't just because he could save his friends. 

Lying in his bed, trying to process what he had committed himself to, he realized that he wanted not only to save all that he could afford to but to also strike back at the Capitol. He wanted to make them feel the despair and suffering past tributes must've felt, to feel accountable for all the lives they've unnecessarily wasted in the name of tyranny and entertainment. But most of all, he wanted to make sure there would never be a time in the future for kids like Tubbo to be in the same position that he was in right now. He might've saved Tubbo by volunteering to take his place but with this opportunity, there was a chance to save thousands more. And he was willing to take that chance. 

"Are you sure?" Phil queried. "This isn't something you can just decide without commitment or something you can back out of." 

"I'm sure," George replied. "You know what's at stake for me. Do you really think I'm going to let this opportunity go?" 

Phil gave a grim smile. "True. But I needed to make sure. And now I am." He folded his hand together and sat back in his chair. "But before I tell you anything about our plan, you're going to need some background information."

"You know how District Thirteen was wiped out almost a century ago, right?" George nodded. He knew that much from the brief lectures he received in the district schools. "Well, that's partially true. The Capitol bombed and leveled the city with their hovercrafts toward the end of the war but only on the surface. Deep under Thirteen, there's a system of nuclear weapons that the district had developed under the supervision of the Capitol. The Capitol couldn't afford to bomb too deeply under the surface and risk losing the system so they agreed with Thirteen to come to a cease-fire agreement. Except within a month, almost the entire population of Thirteen was wiped out and the nuclear system was back in the Capitol's control." 

"What happened?" George asked. His mind was still trying to process the truth behind the facts that he never had much cause to think about. "How was the Capitol able to take it back?" 

"I don't know much about the details of what went wrong but to sum it up, the people of Thirteen weren't merely careful enough and the Capitol was able to get assassins to infiltrate the place. They killed the leadership and overrode the bunker's system and essentially locked everyone underground. Killed almost half of the soldiers there before the Capitol even arrived." Phil took a swig from the glass of water in front of him as George digested the grim facts.

"Some of them did manage to escape though," Phil continued. "About a hundred, give or take, were able to escape the bunker before it was shut down and head up north. They were able to survive in the wild for some time before finding an abandoned stronghold. Apparently, there was something in that place that allowed them to thrive again and allowed them to build up another resistance from there. Around seventy-five years ago, they started to send out people to the remaining districts to recruit. I was approached a couple of months after being made victor and I wasn't the only one. Several other victors were also drafted into being part of their spies." 

"That's what you are, a spy?" George asked. He wondered what happened to Phil to make him turn against the Capitol, though he imagined it had something to do with the Games. 

"Yes, but now, we're ready to finally make a move," Phil replied. "But to do that, we need your skillset." 

"You mean someone who can hack?" 

"Yes," Phil said. "You probably don't know this, but you've helped the rebel forces several times in the past already, George." George looked up in surprise. "As expected, they didn't tell you who they really were. But in the past, have anyone bought programmed malware from you or asked you to break a tracking or surveillance code on a piece of equipment?" 

George nodded. In fact, it was a pretty common service he provided, getting rid of any tracking function on a device or equipment. Most of the items manufactured electronically had some sort of locator built into it but it wasn't very protected or hard to break. The malware, though, was an unusual request he got periodically. He would basically download a virus that he had created onto a hard drive and when used, would allow the user to infiltrate a server's firewall. But most importantly, it wouldn't leave any evidence of itself behind, making it untraceable, both to the user and himself. He didn't know what his client planned to do with it and he never asked, an agreement that he had with his customers. But now, he could guess what that malware was used for in the hands of rebels.

"We have several other providers as well but you're the one that caught our interest the most," Phil said. "Raised in the district's community house, escaped at fourteen, location unknown. That was all we could access from the records. Looks like you were able to create a false identity for yourself." 

"I had help with it," he replied. Wilbur had helped him create a false ID when they had first banded together and he used that ID every time he showed up to the Reaping. So far, it had seemed to work and no law enforcement had caught on to him. 

"Okay, I think that's enough background info." Phil pulled out a tablet from under the table. Unlike the sleek, immaculate devices that George had seen in the Capitol, the gray surface of this one was scratched and worn. "This was one of the devices that you worked on before. Completely untrackable and impenetrable. Unless they managed to get their hands on it. The information inside this tablet could destroy everything we've been working toward if it falls into the wrong hands. I'm cleared to let you see it, but only for a short amount of time. I don't think I need to tell you what happens if you tell anyone about what it contains."

"Of course." George took the tablet, the screen interface already opened to a page of text and diagrams.

"The document holds all the information about this operation and what we need you to do," Phil explained. "Read it and if you have any more questions, I'll answer them." 

For the next hour, George scanned the text, reading the details, and taking it all in. Finally, as the sun steadily climbed its way to the peak of its passage, he placed the tablet back on the tablet slowly and slid it back to Phil. "So let me recap," he said slowly, turning all the information he had received over in his head. "Your ultimate goal is to break the tributes out of the arena during the Games." 

"Correct," Phil replied. "But to do that, we need your help. You know about the opening ceremony on the first day of the Games, right?"

George nodded. During the minute countdown on the first day of the Games, the tributes were forced to stand on the metal plates that transported them while the Temple, the structure in the middle that contained all the weapons and supplies, would start the building of the barrier that would enclose the entire arena. The barrier would stay in effect during the entirety of the Games and would ensure the tributes wouldn't be able to escape the arena or allow any outside interference. 

"The barrier's generator, what we called a Beacon, is actually located right under the Temple, from what our internal spies within the Games have told us," Phil continued. "If we managed to break the Beacon, the barrier would collapse from the loss of its power source and we would be able to infiltrate the arena."

"And my job is to make the weapon that would break the Beacon," George said. He glanced down at the black screen of the tablet. "You plan for a computer to be a part of the supplies in the Temple and for me to use that computer."

"We have an insider among the Gamemakers who would make sure that there would be a device among the supplies. Normally I would discourage you from going straight into the center but you won't have a choice but to go in if you want to get it," Phil said. "And with that computer, you'll turn it into an EMP."

"With help from District 5's male tribute," George added, remembering that part of the plan from the document. "Who is also a rebel that you managed to sneak in." 

"Along with District 6, 8, and 10's," Phil replied. "They were given the bare minimum instructions to simply protect you and the District 5's tribute who knows to make an EMP, at the cost of their own lives. If you rewatch the Reaping, you'll notice that an unusual amount of tributes volunteered this year and if you dug even further into their records, you'll also see that they've had past dealings with the Peacekeepers in their individual districts."

"Won't the Capitol suspect something?" George asked, the first of his questions. "That so many people volunteered this year." 

"So far, intel says no," Phil answered. "They've never had cause to worry over the previous years and they expect this year to be just like the rest. Decades of peace have made them complacent which is why we're striking now." 

"Okay." George rubbed his temples, thinking. "So we've made the EMP. The next part of your plan is to wait for a feast to be called." 

“Almost every tribute will be gathered in the center during the feast. The instant it begins, you’ll knock out all the Gamemakers' control of the arena, the cameras, the microphones, all the traps, and weapons. Do you think you could do that?” Phil asked. 

“I think I can.” After getting into the gym’s system so easily, he was confident that the arena’s firewall wouldn’t be that difficult to overcome. 

“That’s good.” Phil's fingers idly tapped against the marble surface of the table. “Plant the EMP at the middle of the Temple. The pulse will be able to knock out the generator and once the barrier falls, my crew will take over the hovercraft that is used to retrieve the bodies and we’ll pick up all the remaining tributes from the arena. And that’s the entire plan.” 

There was a long silence as George considered the validity of the plan. “You’re leaving a lot up to chance,” he finally said. “A lot of things could go wrong. What if the computer isn’t part of the supplies? What if I or the tribute from District 5 dies? What if the EMP doesn’t reach the generator?”

“We hope,” Phil answered simply. “That’s all we can do after preparing the best we can. Even the most elaborate plan, the most cautious route of action has some risks. We just have to weather them as they come.” He leaned forward and for the first time, George could see the real Phil in those eyes, not the distant and aloof mentor, but the fierce, determined rebel. “The districts have been oppressed for too long, George. You probably don’t have any information about the state of other districts but I do. Discontent and rebellion are brewing underneath the surface and it’ll only take one spark to ignite an inferno. The question is, are you willing to become the kindling that forms that spark?” 

“I am,” George replied. “I have my own hopes riding on this, Phil.” He paused, and after a moment’s hesitation, asked, “What happens to the tributes after this? After we’ve been rescued?” 

“I’m not sure. I haven’t received any information about what happens to you, but I can guess,” Phil said, leaning back in his chair. “Every rebellion needs a figurehead, the public’s image of a hero. We, victors and tributes alike, survivors of the Capitol’s Games will become that figurehead. Or at least that’s what I’m guessing will happen.”

“Oh.” George looked out over the balcony, to the expanse of metallic buildings with their bright colors and glass surfaces. Below him, he could see the milling people walking around, unaware that their time as the privileged would soon be coming to an end if he pulled this off. It all depended on him, for him to have the skill and bravery necessary. Another burden to the already crushing weight on his shoulders. 

Phil must’ve sensed his trepidation because he grasped one of George’s trembling hands in his. “We can do this, George,” the man said, reassuringly. “The Capitol doesn’t suspect a thing and this plan has been in the works for years. I won’t say it’s guaranteed we’ll pull this off but I believe there’s a good chance we can.” 

His mentor’s blue eyes looked into his, unflinchingly. “The Capitol started this fight. We’ll be the one to finish it.” 

“Hold still, George,” Eret said, making the last few adjustments to his outfit for the interview. George held as still as he could, while his stylist examined him. “Okay, I think that’s all. Turn around and look in the mirror.” 

George turned his body to look in the mirror and for a moment, he was thrown by the reflection that was staring back at him. The boy in the mirror glittered as if he had light imbued in his skin, their twinkly reflection sparkling in the light. His hair was styled to one side of his head, elegant and natural-looking. His suit was ivory white with accents of blue through the fabric. But best of all, he could see the pattern of holofibers woven into his sleeves and at the shoulders of his suit. 

“Like it?” Eret was standing next to him, his reflection smiling in the mirror. Behind them, the assistants were practically hyperventilating at their success. “I think the white really brings out your hair and eyes.” 

“Yeah,” George agreed through his gaping mouth, still finding it hard to believe that this reflection was really him. Simple and minimal make-up brought out the color in his face and his usually pale skin contrasted well with the attire. 

“Come on, let’s go meet the rest of the team.” George followed the tall brunette through the dark hallways into the room that would lead them to the stage. He could see the various tributes already ready with their groups. His team was standing near the edge of the crowd and they made a beeline over. 

“George!” Niki exclaimed right off the bat. “You look great!” 

“So do you.” His friend was in a dress the same shade of white his was and there were also accents of blue in the folds of the fabric. Her face was breathtakingly clear and her hair was dyed from its natural blonde to a dark brown, except for the bangs in front. Small pieces of sapphires and diamonds were expertly weaved through the strands, throwing off the light every time she moved. “I like how your hair looks.”

“They didn’t plan on doing it but I asked if they could dye it,” she replied, rubbing a strand between her fingers. “Hopefully, it stays for a while.”

“Looks like it might.” Sapnap popped up out of nowhere next to him, making George jump. “Holy crap, how come the two of you got the stylist that actually knows what they’re doing? Mine just pretty much rolled a suit in coal dust and called it an actual outfit.” The boy tugged unhappily at the pure black tie at his neck as he fidgeted with the cuffs of his suit. Everything about his outfit was black, with varying shades of it. “Hey, Clay, we're over here!” 

The smile slid off of George’s face as he realized what was coming. The tall blonde was easily spotted over the crowd and George could see him making his way over. After his break-down on the roof, they hadn’t seen each other, much less talked to each other. Before he could find an excuse to get away or anything to not have to talk to the blonde, Clay was right in front of them. 

He was dressed in a forest green suit, with brown lapels. His sleeves were adorned with cuff links in the shape of axes, silver, and gold. His blonde hair was slicked back with gel and his skin seemed to be slightly more tanner than before, drawing out the color of his hair. To say he looked great was an understatement, George thought. 

“You look awesome, Niki,” the boy said, smiling brightly. Niki looked taken back by the complement and Sapnap raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh thanks,” she replied quickly before the pause got too long. She glanced at George and he quickly made sure his face didn’t betray any of the emotion in him. 

To be honest, he expected this. He should’ve expected this change in their relationship. But to have Clay basically look straight over him still felt like a blow from a sledgehammer. 

“How long is it until it’s showtime?” the blonde asked, looking around at the other tributes. 

“I think it starts in another few minutes,” Sapnap replied, glancing over at the clock on the wall. “Around ten, from what my mentor told me.” 

“Hm.” Clay absentmindedly adjusted his tie, his expression distracted and distant. “I think I should get back to my group if it starts soon. Hopefully, we can see each other again before…” His voice trailed off, all of them knowing what awaited them tomorrow. 

“Yeah,” Sapnap finally said. “I don’t know if we can, though.” 

“We’ll see,” Clay replied. “See ya.” And without so much as a glance at George, he turned away and slipped through the crowd back to his own team. 

“What the hell was that?” Niki asked, looking after the blonde’s retreating back. “He didn’t even look at you, George.” She turned to him, concern on her face. “Did something happen between you two?” 

George didn't answer. He was still focused on his last view of the blonde and he hated how remote and disconnected the boy was. It was his fault, he knew. He had destroyed what they had and now he was paying for it. But Clay didn't deserve to be hurt by his choice. And now that George knew there was a way to stay together, however slim the chances were, he had to fix this. Unconsciously, he started walked after the blonde. "I'll be back," he said to Niki before diving into the crowd. 

He pushed his way through the milling groups of victors, tributes, stylists, and anyone else that got into his way. Everyone seemed to walk into his path and he pushed by them, murmuring apologies as he went. 

Eventually, though, he caught up. "Clay, wait." He grabbed the blonde's hand to catch his attention.

Clay turned around, surprise lighting up in his eyes when he realized who was holding him. "George?" 

"Look, I'll keep this simple," George began, talking quietly. "I want to apologize for how I acted that night." 

There was a brief silence before the blonde replied, "It wasn't like you did it for no reason. You were probably right to do what you did." He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "But I'll be lying if I said I was okay with it." 

George considered for a moment before just saying it frankly. "I'm not okay with it either. I hate this new distance we have now," he said, holding on tighter to the larger tanned hand in his. His face definitely blushing now. "I hate how we can't even talk to each other anymore and how I can't look at you without feeling guilty. I know what I did wasn't wrong, but it doesn't feel right either." 

"George-" Clay began before the sound of a buzzer pierced through the room. Tributes were being directed toward the door by Avoxes and they were being pushed as people moved around them. The blonde leaned down to George's ear, talking over the chatter in the room. "Meet me up at the rooftop at eleven, okay?" 

George nodded and with a final squeeze, he let go of Clay's hand before he went back to his team. 

"Okay, last check-up," Eret said, looking him over quickly. "How're you feeling?" 

"Nervous," he admitted. It was true. His day of preparation had been used differently instead and he had no clue how he was going to fare with the crowd. "I'm not exactly the friendly type of person who the crowd wants."

"You don't need to be," Eret replied, straightening his collar. "Just be confident and sure of yourself. Just remember, the world's your bitch. You just need to claim it." He smoothed down the cobalt tie and patted him on the shoulder. "You're good. Go through the door and they'll get you in your place." 

Behind the door, several frantic servants were moving about, moving tributes so that they were in order by their districts. George knew, from previous viewings of the tributes' interviews to know what was coming. Already, he could hear the sound of the interviewer warming the audience up. 

"And now, for the tributes of the Ninety-Eighth Hunger Games!" The line of tributes, in order by their districts and with the females from each in front of the males, was ushered out into the open stage, the crowd's deafening applause shaking the ground. For a minute, all of them simply stood there, giving the crowd smiles or waves or whatever they could do to appeal to the audience. George tried to appear as amiable as possible despite the revulsion swirling in his stomach at how excited the audience was, considering they knew twenty-three of the kids they were cheering on would be dead before the end of the month. 

After that, they were directed to their seats, simple white chairs that were on an elevated platform behind the main stage. He sat down on his, carefully, and then turned back to watch his fellow tributes engage with the interviewer and the crowd. 

Quackity, a fairly new character to the scene of the Hunger Games, became an interviewer about five years ago, George remembered, when the last one bit the dust. The man seemed fairly normal-ish looking beside a slight enhancement of his features and brown skin. There was something a little off about the man's face, something that made you look twice before turning away when you first encountered him but otherwise, he could pass for normal. But most importantly, he managed to get his job done fairly well, laughing at weak jokes and getting tributes to open up about themselves. His own awkward nature only seems to give the person he's interviewing more confidence. 

The tributes quickly slipped by, each only given three minutes of airtime before moving on. None of the tributes in front of him gave him much of an impression except for Techno, who, predictably, was going for a brutal and sarcastic approach. 

Just as Niki sat back down from her turn, the spotlight shone straight on him and he could hear the sound of his name being called. Slowly, as to make sure he didn't trip or something, he made his way to the interviewee's seat. 

"Woah, would you look at that!" Quackity's voice boomed out over the speakers and the crowd screamed their agreement. "Look at you, Mr. Davidson." 

George forced his lips into a smile, hoping it came out as natural. "Thank you, Quackity. You're not bad-looking yourself." 

"Is this flirting?" The man asked a small chuckle coming out. "I'm not too bright, George, you're going have to be a bit more obvious than that." 

"Oh, I was just being polite," George replied, letting a little bit of the truth leak into his words. "You know, just giving out compliments I don't really mean." 

"Looks like we got a sassy one here, folks!" Quackity said, laughing along with the audience. "Okay, okay, moving on from my inferior appearance, let's talk about you. I have you to say, you made quite an impression at the opening ceremony. You, quite literally, outshone the rest of the tributes, in my opinion." He turned to the crowd with a sweep of his hand. "Wouldn't you agree, people?" Calls of approval rang out the packed square as Quackity turned back to him. "What did you think of it?" 

"Oh, it was pretty enough," George replied, carefully. "But what really fascinated me about it was how it never stayed the same, always unpredictable, always changing, able to morph into anything. Would you a demonstration?" 

"By all means, go ahead." Quackity leaned back into his seat as George stood up. His eyes fell on Eret who was seated in the front with the rest of the stylists. The man gave him a quick nod and a smile. A tablet was in his hands, obviously prepared for an instance like this. 

Behind his back, the holofibers activated, blue light shimmering out. At first, it was simply a dim glow but it eventually twisted and lengthened into a pair of blue wings. The crowd watched with hushed gasps and awed expressions. For a minute or so, he simply stood there, rather awkwardly as Eret manipulated the thread into shapes and forms that caused the audience to point and applaud with each change. Finally, the stylist powered down the fibers, and George sat back down to a round of deafening clapping and hoots. 

"Well, that was quite a show," Quackity said. "But let's move on. There are some questions I've wanting to ask before the timer runs out. How do you plan to win the Games? Care to share?" 

George bit his lips slightly before replying. "No one will be able to find me. But I'll be able to find everyone else." He leaned forward and looked directly into the camera. He could see the crowd was hanging onto his every word. "They can come with their swords and spears but as long as they're in the arena, they'll simply play in the palm of my hand. So struggle all you want, I'll only make it more entertaining for me." The sound of the buzzer rang out and the crowd broke their silence in a round of wild applause.

In a daze, George found his way back to his seat and sat back down. He felt relieved that he hadn't made a fool of himself and that he could sit back, his part in this charade of dazzling smiles and false cheerfulness done. 

He was pretty much zoned out of the District 4's female interview until Quackity asked her what her greatest strength was. 

The raven-haired girl gave a dazzling smile. "Well, I would say my greatest strength is my intelligence. You see, people think power and muscles are what wins the Games for you but that's not true. What you can rely on the most is all in your head." She continued to give that beaming smile as she leaned forward toward Quackity. "The Games start tomorrow, right? That's when tributes start playing it for real. Oh sure they can train and prepare all they want but they never think outside the box. But I've been playing the Games since I arrived here. In fact, I've already prepared a few secret weapons." 

"Not actual weapons, I hope," Quacity said with a nervous laugh. "Because that would be cheating and all, right?"

"Oh no, not actual weapons," she reassures him. "I don't need a hidden knife or sword when I have so many other options. Remember, the best secret weapon is the one my enemy never suspects. And I have a very specific enemy in mind." 

George looked up quickly at the duo on the stage and he was sure, almost certainly, that the girl's blue eyes flickered over to his own for a millisecond. He was reminded vividly of the murderous look that he had received just a couple of days ago and he was certain he knew who the enemy was. 

The rest of the interview was spent in a renewed state of nervousness and overthinking. He tried to focus on the interviews but inevitably, his mind would slip back to thinking about what "secret weapon" would be targeted toward him. Or the fact that the person wielding those weapons was seated right next to him. He was so distracted that he couldn't even focus for long on Clay's interview. All he could remember was how easily the blonde laughed and played with the crowd. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hear that laugh directed at him. 

At nine, the interviews were finally over and he was standing with the rest of the tributes for one final anthem before being escorted to the cars that would drive them back to the Tribute Center. In the bustle of the crowd, George had ended up in a car with a pair of unfamiliar tributes. Thankfully, the car ride didn't last long, and before he knew it, he was standing with everyone else in his group on their floor. 

Dinner was a somber affair with quiet chatter and silence as the impending time for farewells came closer. As the last plate was taken away, Phil sank back in his seat. "A last piece of advice. I would advise you to take as much as you're willing to risk from the Temple and then get the hell out of there. Don't even think about trying to risk duking it out with any other tribute. You won't survive long without supplies but you definitely won't survive an encounter with a Career. Understood?" 

He and Niki nodded. It was what he expected to hear from Phil anyway. He hoped that the promised computer wouldn't be too far in and that it was obvious to spot from a distance. If he let it slip through his fingers, then the chances of getting it back were slim to none. 

Fundy clasped both of their hands and admitted that when he first saw the two of them, he wasn't sure either of them would win. "But I'm sure you have what it takes," he said, the words feeling practiced and bland. "Give them hell, okay?" After giving both of them pats on the back, he left the room without another word.

George laid in his bed, watching the shorthand of the bedside clock tick slowly to eleven. He didn't know what he was going to say to Clay on the eve before being thrown into a deathmatch. He wanted desperately to fix what they had before now that he knew it wasn't totally impossible to keep it but words had never been his strong suit. He knew, though, he couldn't tell Clay all of the truth. He couldn't risk jeopardizing the slight change he had, however much he wanted to.

Finally, when it was 10:54, he quietly left his room and walked to the elevator. His footsteps were silent on the soft carpet, and his shadow the only one following him. 

With a loud ding, the car arrived at the rooftop. Shivering in the breeze, he scanned the rooftop before his eyes fell on the tall figure leaning against the railing. Carefully, he walked over until he was standing behind Clay.

"Hey," he said, his voice startlingly loud. 

Clay turned around slowly. His face was half-hidden by the darkness, his expression unreadable. But the moment he saw George, his arms came hesitantly up. Sending the blonde's nervousness and uncertainty, he walked closer until he could feel the warmth coming off from the taller boy's body. Knowing that he wouldn't be rebuked now, Clay's arm came around George and his own recuperated the action.

For several minutes, the two stayed like that, soaking in the other's warmth and closeness. George closed his eyes and for a moment, he imagined how different it would've been if the two of them had met in a world where children weren't sacrificed in the name of oppression and no need for a rebellion to fix the greed and corruption that gripped their lives. He wanted that imaginative world to become a reality and he was glad that he was given the chance to do just that. 

"I forgive you," Clay murmured against his head, picking up their conversation where it last left off. "I already and always have, George." He pulled him in tighter against his body. "I want to let you know that I'll protect you as long as I live. I'd rather kill myself than let you die."

"Me too. Even if there's no future for us, I want to let you know this," George whispered back. He took a shuddering breath and pluck up his courage. He owed Clay at least this much. "I love you, Clay Bryce. I love you from this point on into infinity. Even if my body dies, I'll still love you and nothing will change that." 

Clay's mouth moved against his hair as he spoke in a choked voice. "I love you too, George. Heart and soul, I belong to you. Whatever happens, I'll stay with you as long as you'll let me." 

"Stay with me forever," George replied. His throat was starting to close up and he could feel heat prickling at the edge of his eyes, a sure sign of tears. This wasn't what he expected their final encounter before the Games to be like. But then again, it had done what had needed to be done, all their previous bitterness and hurt washed away in the presence of the one they loved. 

"Always." Clay kissed his forehead gently, his lips warm and comforting. "I'm never letting you go. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. It's you and me to the end." 

\----|}{|----

George felt himself being shaken awake and with dull bleary eyes, he saw Eret standing over him, a grim expression on his face. 

"It's time, George," the stylist said quietly. "We need to get going." 

His mouth suddenly felt as he swallowed a mouthful of sand. Stiffly, he dressed in a plain white outfit that was laid out for him and allowed himself to be led out of his room into the elevator. Eret pressed the button for the ground floor and silently, they watched the elevator drop down toward the streets.

They were directed to a landing strip and within a minute, a hovercraft materialized from the air and dropped down a ladder. 

Placing a hand on the ladder, George felt his body freeze up entirely, his muscles immobilized as he was lifted. As the ladder retracted fully into the interior of the ship, a doctor came by and with calm, unintelligible words, injected the tracker into his arm. 

After retrieving Eret, they were led to the waiting room where a banquet of food was prepared. George ate as much as he could, aware that he would need the extra nourishment to keep him going during the Games but not tasting the delectable food at all. For all he knew, he could be chewing on sawdust. Through the round windows, mountains quickly replaced the expanse of metal buildings as they were transported to wherever the arena was located.

Eret, thankfully, seemed aware that he didn't want to talk and instead sat across from him, in silence. After eating as much he could stand, George sat with his elbows on his knees and went over the plan in his head as a way to remind himself that there was still hope, still a chance at a life with his friends. He wasn't sure if it worked; his emotions seemed to be out of his control now, jumping from fear to optimism and then back. 

The hovercraft suddenly slowed and the windows blacked out completely as they were lowered into the Launch Room, the place where tributes awaited the final call. 

In his room, George quickly changed into the attire selected by the Gamemakers, a thick tan hoodie, with a dark green undershirt, completed with soft black pants and comfortable shoes as well as black combat gloves. Eret helped him make sure that everything fitted properly and that it wouldn't impede his movement. 

"And here, George." He looked up to see Eret holding out a familiar ring with a thin metal cord running through it. "This is your token, right? It was found on the train in your old outfit. I had the cord placed on because it looked too small for your finger."

"Thanks." He took the fashioned necklace and dropped it over his head. He felt guilty that he had almost forgotten about this gift he was given and glad that it hadn't been lost forever. At the very least, one of his promises was kept. 

"You're going to be fine," Eret said abruptly. The taller man placed his hands on George's shoulders and gripped them tightly. "Just keep a cool head, and remember what Phil told you. Remember what you're fighting for. Nothing is set in stone until it happens." George looked up and as he looked into his reflection from the darkened glasses the stylist wore, he was certain who one of Phil's fellow rebels was. "Keep your head high and remember, the world's your bitch." 

Before George could respond, the cool sound of a female voice sounded out from a hidden speaker. "Tribute, one minute until launch. Please stand on the launch pad." 

With legs that felt as if weights were attached to them, George made his way unsteadily to the raised platform. When he reached it, he turned around. "I'm not going to give up," he said with a confidence he hoped was real. "I'm going to keep fighting, Eret. And I'm going to win." 

Eret gave him one last proud smile. "That's the spirit. And you don't have to tell me. I know you'll win." 

A thick glass wall came around the circle that George was standing on and the platform began to rise. He caught one last view of his stylist pointing under his chin and he understood. With his head high, he waited as the darkness enveloped him before bright blinding sunlight began to pour in. 

Blinded briefly by the change in lighting, George quickly blinked the spots out of his eyes. He scanned his surroundings, taking in the field he'll be playing on. 

About twenty yards in front of him, the Temple stood, a metallic structure with a roof and four entrances. He could see the supplies that were scattered around the field and the pile of bounty inside the complex. Surrounding the flat grassland they were currently on was a forest of towering pines, massive and daunting. But most peculiar, there were several buildings scattered in the distance as well, looming over the trees. Geoge didn't have too much time to think about what those meant before a voice boomed out across the field. 

"Ladies and gentleman, let us start the Ninety-Eight Hunger Games!!" 

Immediately, a beam of orange light shot out from the Temple into the sky. At a fixed point, a wall of orange was expanding and growing wider by the second, calculated exactly to be completed within the minute timer. Meanwhile, a countdown had begun, the numbers shifting rapidly from sixty to fifty-nine to fifty-eight and on and on. 

George looked over his surrounding tributes and with a jolt, he realized Clay was only two tributes down on his left and he could see Niki even further down. Sapnap wasn't anywhere he could see, presumably hidden behind the Temple. 

His allies mostly accounted for, he quickly went back to searching the supplies for the one item he had to get at all cost. And he found it. Propped on a small crate was a laptop, already showing its main interface and ready to be used. It wasn't that far in, only about eight yards to the right of where he was standing and George shifted himself to run in that direction.

The countdown was now only down to five seconds and his entire body was tensed, ready to explode into action. 

4...

3...

2...

1...

The gong rang out, echoing across the field and his leg sprang into action, jumping off his plate and headed directly toward the computer until he was blown off his feet by something from his side. 

For a split moment, he lied there in the grass, trying to regain the breath lost from his lungs and figure out what had happened. Did the Gamemakers release animals into the field for added excitement? What had knocked him down? 

George didn't understand until he felt the hands that were suddenly around his throat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave a comment if you want to say anything and kudos if you like! Thanks!


	8. The Vindictive Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting this chapter so late! I had to take a break for a couple of weeks due to personal issues but now I'm back with a 4k chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

George scrabbled desperately at the hands enclosing his throat as they squeezed even tighter. The air that had just started to come back into his heaving lungs was now quickly disappearing. Through the pounding of blood in his head, he could dimly make out the sound of yelling and running feet as well as the ominous thuds of bodies against the ground. 

Through his blurry vision, he could see the tribute that was currently choking the life out of him. His brain couldn't register anything about his face except the wide fearful brown eyes glaring into his. "I have to do this," the tribute gasped, his grip unrelenting. More words were spilling from him in a torrent as if against his will. "She promised. She promised if I kill you, she'll let me join the Careers. She'll give me a chance to win."

 _But I've been playing the Games since I arrived here. In fact, I've already prepared a few secret weapons._ The words from the girl tribute from District 4 came back to George and now he knew what they meant. _Fuck,_ he thought, his mind losing focus and his thoughts falling into disorder as he tried to force the unrelenting grip on his throat away. _I blew it._ He was careless, focusing on only getting what he needed that he forgot about the enemies that he would be fighting against, even as he tried to save them. Not that it mattered anymore. George could feel the edge of his vision fading into black and his chest heaved for air that wouldn't come, the erratic thumping of his heart overtaking the rest of the world. 

Suddenly, the weight atop of him disappeared and the bruising grip on his throat fell away. His airway free now, George sucked in a desperate breath, coughing and spluttering as he rolled over onto his side. A hand grabbed his shoulder and reflexively, he lashed out with a poorly-aimed fist. 

"George, it's me!" Clay's panicked face swam into his vision and he immediately stopped his wild assault. "Are you okay?" Come on, we need to get away right now!"

"Not yet," George croaked through his bruised throat. His mind was clear now that he was receiving oxygen and he tried to think up a course of action that would work. He pushed himself up and with Clay's help, stood on trembling legs. "We need to regroup first with Niki and Sapnap." A few paces away, the tribute that had been choking him was unconscious on the ground. Tearing his eyes away from the boy, George glanced over the field. Around the Temple, the tributes were fighting, with several bodies on the ground ominously still. At the same time, other tributes were grabbing what they could and running into the safety of the towering pines. Miraculously, the computer was still atop the crate, untouched and ignored by the tributes drawn to the more useful supplies. Unwilling to risk losing the key to the plan, he began to run toward the crate. 

"Get Niki and Sapnap!" he yelled over his shoulder to Clay. "I'll get us more supplies!" George turned back to the task at hand, trusting Clay to follow his directions. He put everything he could into running, trying not to look at the bloodied corpses he passed. 

George skidded to a stop in front of the box and as quickly as he dared, closed the running computer. There wasn't anything to carry the device in but there was a sturdy, black backpack a couple of yards away. He snatched up the bag and unzipped it with trembling fingers, before cramming the computer inside. As soon as Geroge resealed the bag, a piercing click echoed across the field from the Temple. 

A wall of bluish fog was rising from the Temple, growing at a terrifying pace. The tributes that were close to the Temple were immediately enveloped in it, the thick mist obscuring them from view. George didn't know if the fog was something harmless or a form of chemical weapon but years of watching tributes encountering the mechanisms of the Gamemakers told him it was probably the latter. He slung the bag over his shoulder and searched the field for his friends.

"George!" He spun to his left and with an overwhelming sense of relief, spotted Clay, Sapnap, and Niki on the edge of the field, alive and unharmed from what he could see. "Get over here!" 

A sickly burnt smell was starting to permeate the air and George looked to the side, alarmed at how close the fog was already, barely a few feet yards away. His body spun to run toward his friends, his feet making a couple of steps before the ground tilted alarmingly as if the dirt had become liquid. Unable to keep his balance, he dropped to his knees, hands planted in the grass as his breath came in short shallow bursts.

So he was right. The fog was mechanically engineered, inducing some sort of vertigo effect. The violent spinning of the ground made George's entire body clench in panic at the disconnected feeling of the world moving despite him not moving. The grass and dirt under his palms seemed to surge and flow like water and he fought to keep his body steady as he struggled to stand. He couldn't stay here, he had to move, get away from his enemies, and find a safe place to wait out the effects of the chemical. The fog washed over him, reducing his vision to a blank wall of mist. The scent was becoming more and more potent and George knew the only way to escape this prison of fog and chemicals was to move out of its range. _Focus,_ he told himself as calmly as he could while his heart raced with his panic. _Take it slowly. One step at a time._

Unsteadily, he climbed to his feet, the limbs trembling under his weight. Slowly, he took his steps carefully, heading off in a random direction. The constant blank wall in front of him was disconcerting and he fumbled his way out of the expanse, gaining more speed, propelled by the fear of his vulnerability. Anyone could knock him over right now and he wouldn't even be able to put up a fight. That fear forced everything else from his mind and he forgot about his friends waiting for him, only thinking about putting as much distance between himself and any potential assailants. 

Abruptly, the constant blue emptiness gave way to trees and hard-packed dirt. The rapid march of the fog had ended at the treeline, the seemingly impenetrable wall thinning out across the forest floor. Without hesitating, George plunged into the trees, leaving behind the burnt scent and blue clouds. 

George ran, or rather stumbled, with every step threatened to trip him, every tree root seeming to jump into his path. If he tripped and fell over now, he doubts he'd be able to get back up. He crashed through the foliage haphazardly, heart beating a rapid tempo in his throat. 

All of a sudden, a dark shape burst out of the bush to his right into his bobbing vision. George collided with the figure solidly, his momentum adding force to the impact. He crashed into the ground with an audible thud. For a moment, the only thing he could focus on was the ringing in his ears and the spinning in his head before he remembered that anyone and everyone was an enemy here. He spun around, determined to defend himself no matter what. 

The tribute, who couldn't have been more than fourteen years old, was staring at him with wide fearful eyes, the knife he was holding shaking visibly. A long cut streaked his forehead, oozing blood sluggishly. Before George could open his mouth to say something, the boy jumped on him, the knife descending toward his chest. 

Taken by surprise, George felt onto his back, his head smacking against the hard-packed dirt. He instinctively raised his arms and he felt the tip of the knife slice a shallow groove into his palm before he got a solid grip on his opponent's hand, halting the weapon from coming down any further. 

For a moment, the two of them struggled to get the upper hand, the tip of the blade hovering inches over George's head. The toxin in his body was making it hard to focus his strength properly, so even though he was older and stronger than the thin child above him, the knife started descending, centimeter by centimeter. Fear and panic pulsed through him with every beat of his heart, the fear of his imminent death. _No, no, no,_ his fevered brain sputtered through the tangled thoughts in his head. His emotions were out of his control, his facade destroyed by the artificial chemicals that he had inhaled. _I don't want to die I don't want to die I won't die!_

With a burst of adrenaline, George flung the tribute above him to the side. The tribute crashed into a nearby tree, dropping his knife with a strangled gasp. Before the boy could recover or get up, George seized the knife off from the ground and with a mad surge of strength, buried it into the tribute's chest. 

A spray of blood, disgustingly warm, splattered against George's face. He scrambled back on his hands quickly, watching in silent horror as the tribute's body twitched in death spasms. Blood painted the ground a crimson red, dripping from his open mouth and around the knife in his chest, a look of surprise forever etched into his face now. 

George jumped to his feet and took off again, faster than before. He tripped over a protruding tree root, falling to the ground. Without stopping, he pushed himself back up and continued running, anything to get away from the body of his victim. The thick metallic scent of blood still clung to him and his breath was coming in short bursts, as he tried to reconcile with what he had just done.

He didn’t know how long he ran for, time seeming to flow lucidly. The constant terrain of pines and grass flew by him as he stumbled wildly through the forest. Slowly, the chemicals seemed to make their way out of his body as he ran, his vision and the disorientation in his mind stabilizing. The adrenaline in his veins ran out and the ache in his legs from the mad dash through the forest caused him to slow down until he finally stopped, gasping for air as he leaned against the thick trunk of a tree. 

George scraped off the dried blood on his face, staring at the rusty red substance on his trembling hands in terror. He had killed someone, a child, with these hands. To save himself, he had committed the one sin he had always fought against. He could see the image of the boy’s body on the ground in his mind, twitching as his heart tried to keep itself pumping as the blood drained out of him. The look of shock, fear, pain, and most of all, the condemnation that stared into him, calling him a murderer. 

The boom of a cannon startled him and he jumped up, prepared to run again until he remembered the signal that heralded the death of another tribute. The cannon sounded out five, six, seven more times before it stopped, the chirps of distant birds and forest life resuming. 

Seven tributes dead, the one that encountered him most certainly among them. George took a deep shuddering breath as he tried to calm himself down. He couldn’t afford to break down now. He still had a goal to accomplish and people to save. Mourning and emotions would have to come later. _It had to_ , he told himself. If he lost himself now, everyone’s bright future, including his and all of his friends, would be gone. He had to come to terms with the fact that he would have to fight, and even kill others if he wanted that bright future. 

With deliberately steady fingers, he unzipped the bag he had grabbed from the Temple. He flipped the computer open, relieved to find that there didn’t seem to be any damage to it. The interface and all of its functions still seemed to be intact and operating, at least. He shoved the computer back into his bag. He would start working on it later when he was in a safe enough place. 

The bag also contained a small pack of dried fruit, a package of dehydrated yeast from what he could tell from the cover, a box of matches, a pen-sized flashlight, a roll of medical tape, and a bottle of iodine. In the side pockets, there was a knife with a short blade, and an empty water bottle. The sight of the container drew his attention to the harsh dryness in his mouth and he knew his next priority had to be water. Reorganizing everything, he shoved the knife into his belt and set off again. 

Now that he wasn’t being affected by chemicals, the trek was easier now. George walked at a steady pace for another hour before he stood at the edge of a fast-flowing stream. He took a careful sip of the water, finding it cold and seemingly normal. In the back of his mind, he remembered hearing from the instructors in the gym that running water was usually safe to drink, any contamination carried off in the flow. Nonetheless, George applied a few drops of the iodine in his bottle before he allowed himself to drink the water. 

As he refilled the water bottle again and prepared to set off again, a familiar twinkling sound reached his ear. Looking up, he a package slowly gliding down to him, the white parachute slowing its descent. Eagerly, he unwrapped the package when it landed in his hands. 

Inside was a single warm loaf of bread, sliced in half with a thin sliver of roasted beef in the center. George understood the message and he considered his position. After a moment of thought, he set off again heading northwest from where he faced. 

Back during the day where he and Phil went over the plan, they had agreed on some messages relayed by what he would receive. Matches would mean incoming danger and that he had to run, medicine would mean he was to wait in the area, and so on. Bread would be used as a last resort plan if George was ever separated from his allies. From the direction he was facing when he received the package, he would go in the direction according to which district’s signature bread he would get. If he received one from District 12, he would head straight ahead, to the right if it was from District 3, turn around from District 6, and to the left from District 9, with the rest of the districts filling in the gaps, just as if he was a clock. 

The loaf with beef in the middle was District 10’s specialty, where livestock was produced so he headed toward the direction where ten would be on a clock, eating the food as he went. Phil hadn’t sent any more bread so it meant that he was on the right track. 

The sun was quickly setting now, painting the world a deep brilliant orange. George forged ahead, determined to reunite with his friends before the end of the day. He was sure they were able to escape the initial bloodbath, unharmed. When the fog had struck, they were quite a distance away and should’ve been able to get away while most of the other tributes succumbed to it. At least he hoped that was the case. 

As he walked, George kept his eyes and ears alert for any sign of danger, Gamemaker-made of natural. Which was why he was able to get atop a tree when the Careers came along without being detected. 

Quietly, with a hand clamped tightly over his mouth and careful to not make any sudden moves, he observed the group walking along underneath him, laughing and joking. There were four Careers, one male and three females, recognizable by their typically bigger build and arrogant smirks, and one weedy boy who George remembered vaguely as the tribute from District 7. The boy seemed to be leading the pack, nervously fidgeting with the strap of the small pack on his back and sneaking glances at his more intimidating companions.

“Hey,” one of the Careers, a massive blonde wielding a long spear, called to the boy. “Are you sure he went this way? We’ve been walking for hours now.”

“I-I’m pretty sure,” the boy said hesitantly, the nervous shuffling of his hands intensifying. The group came to a stop right underneath George’s tree. Silently, he thanked Clay for teaching him how to climb a tree higher because if he was any lower right now, the Careers would definitely see him. “I saw him leaving the stream back there and I followed him for a while.” With a jolt, George realized that they were talking about him.

The familiar raven-haired girl sighed, turning slowly to observe the surroundings. “Well, at this point if we haven’t seen him, then it’s safe to assume that he either knows we’re looking for him and managed to ditch us or he backtracked to the stream. It’s the nearest water source for miles, as far as we know, anyway.”

“I ca-can try to find him again,” the boy stammered, his eyes flickering quickly to all the Careers that now surrounded him. “I-I can so off on my own and tr-track him down again. 

The girl’s lips curled up into a bright smile. “Oh no, I don’t think that’ll be very smart, Elias. Let you go off on your own and hope you’ll come back with useful information if you come back at all? Besides, I doubt you’ll be much help anymore. We don’t want to have to track you down a second time.” 

The smaller boy stepped back, his face morphing into terror. “Y-you promised you’ll let me team with you if I help you.” One of the Careers surrounding him shoved him back and he tripped onto the ground. “You promised!” 

“I promised I’ll let you live for a while if you killed that guy, not if you led us on a wild goose chase for hours,” the girl replied, in a slow patronizing voice, as if she was talking to a toddler. “You didn’t keep your end of our deal so why should I?” She waved a languid hand in the boy’s direction, examining her nails with a bored expression. “I’ll make it quick, at least.”

“N-no! NO! Stop! St-!” George turned away quickly as one of the Careers raised his sword over the boy on the ground. The rest of the tribute’s screams were cut off, a horrible gurgling sound replacing it before silence. The boom of the cannon sounded again, reverberating across the arena. George’s hand clamped over his mouth tighter, making sure to stifle the sound of his quick terrified breathing. His heartbeat was thundering in his chest and he hoped that it wasn’t audible to the predators underneath him. 

“Well, that’s one more problem taken care of,” the voice of the girl floating up to George. “Let’s go back to that stream. We might find him there and we need to replenish our water supply, anyway.” 

“Why are you so obsessed with that guy, anyway?” one of the other girls asked, her voice sharp and playful. “From day one, you’ve been after his blood.”

“He took what should’ve been mine,” the black-haired girl replied. “Little slut, thinking he’s something just ‘cause someone finally decided to pay attention to him.” The slight vibrations of heavy footsteps started up again and the voices started to fade away as the Careers walked away below his perch. “When I find him, I’ll show him just how worthless and insignificant he is.” 

The Careers’ laughter rang out and their conversation soon faded away to nothing. Carefully and slowly, George made his way down from the tree, his muscles stiff from their prolonged tension. Shaking slightly, he finally dropped down onto the grass.

The dead tribute’s body was stripped of anything of worth, his bag now gone. The red cut in his throat leaked blood copiously and his glassy eyes looked up unseeingly into the orange sky. Bile churning in his stomach from the sight, he turned away and offered a silent apology to the boy for not being able to save him before he started walking again. It felt so small and ineffective but at least it was something.

He headed in the opposite direction that the Careers had gone off in. Phil hadn’t sent anything else down to him so he must be on the right track toward his friends. Renergized by that thought, he quickened his pace. 

By the time the sun had completely sunk below the horizon though, he was still on his own. His legs were aching from the constant exertion but he refused to stop now, marching through the dark forest with a quiet determination. 

The first strands of the anthem began to play and George tilted his head up to the sky, waiting for the nightly death report. His heart in his throat, he watched the projection of each dead tribute began playing, hoping desperately that none of his friends would show up in the sky. 

The first tribute displayed was the male tribute from District 1, which explained why the Career pack was missing one more member besides Techno. The girl from 5, both from 6 was also shown. More tributes flashed by and as the numbers of the districts climbed upward, showing which one lost a competitor, the pressure on his heart lessened as none of his friends showed up. Both from 9, the girl from 10, and finally, the eighth fatality from District 11, who George recognized with a sick feeling in his stomach as the tribute he killed, was displayed and the anthem closed with a final flourishing note. 

Letting out a sharp breath of relief, George squatted down onto the floor, the tension in his shoulder loosening. The feeling of not knowing if any of his friends survived was horrendously draining and he didn’t realize how strongly the dread of possibly seeing his friends’ faces in the night sky had taken hold in him. But now he knew they were still alive and he dared to hope, safe. Quickly, he leaped to his feet, his legs moving faster, aching to see Sapnap’s smug smile, to hear Niki’s familiar voice, and most of all, to feel Clay’s arms around him. 

After a few more minutes of walking, he began to feel a sense of uneasiness. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. There seemed to be nothing behind him, only darkness and the faint outline of trees but his uneasiness told him that something _was_ nearby, very nearby. As if on cue, there was a rustling in the bushes accompanied by a low moan that sounded both human and not. 

Slowly, George quietly walked over to the base of a nearby tree, careful to not make any sudden or loud movements. His instincts were telling him that he needed to get to higher ground, somewhere where he wouldn’t be as easy to reach. _I should’ve stopped sooner,_ he thought with a slightly sinking feeling and he cursed his impatience to reunite with his friends. 

He placed a hand on the rough bark and was about to start climbing when all of a sudden, the foliage behind him exploded, a demented snarl shattering the silence on the night. 

Quickly, George spun around, his hands raised in an instinctive move to defend himself from whatever creature had marked him. He felt something crash into him, driving his back against the tree, the rough wood digging into his bag. With a startled cry, he threw his arms out, pushing his assailant away. In the soft glow of the moon, he got his first look at his stalker. 

George involuntarily took a step back, pushing himself against the tree. _Zombie_. The word was brought to the surface by his brain. It was the most appropriate name for the creature in front of him. Flesh burned away in places, missing right arm, bones protruding gruesomely, and milky white eyes rolling in their sockets. Tatter clothes hung from its body, which was grotesquely bigger from the stomach up and in the semi-darkness, George could see a zero and eight tattooed on its body. 

The zombie shot to its feet again, charging straight at him with its mouth open to bite him. George ducked to the side and fumbled out his knife, gripping it tightly. As the zombie ran into the tree, he shoved the blade into its skull, feeling the brittle layer of bone break easily under the metal. Quickly, he yanked out the blade as the creature slumped to the ground. 

Breathing heavily, he lowered the knife as the zombie subtle twitches died out. Carefully, he edged closer to the zombie. It didn’t seem very strong or particularly fast but he could hear the far-off moans and sound of shifting grass that was slowly getting closer, attracted by the sound of their struggle. There was no choice but to get up a tree and hide until he could come up with a plan. 

Quickly, he placed a foot on the bark and started climbing up. His feet had just left the ground when he felt a painfully tight grip on his ankle. 

George looked down and to his horror, he could see the zombie he had assumed was dead glaring at him through those blank eyes, decomposed hand locked around his foot. Before he could do anything, the creature opened its mouth and bit down on his foot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, George can't get a break. What do you guys think will happen next? Leave a comment on what you think!  
> Also, I'm planning on posting updates every Sunday now instead of Friday, just a FYI.


	9. Tongue like Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9, baby! Hope you enjoy!

A shriek forced its way out of George’s throat involuntarily and he kicked out desperately to free his leg from the zombie’s maw. The sudden movement made the mutt release its grip from his leg and fall to the ground. 

The pain in George’s ankle exploded and his grip loosened on the bark until he tumbled down along with the zombie. His head smacked the hard dirt and for a moment, he rolled around on the ground as his head throbbed in agony. 

A clammy hand grabbed his shoulder roughly and instinctively, he threw his hands out to keep away the zombie as it strained to get closer. Snarls filled the night air as George’s arms trembled against the unnatural strength of the mutt. The grip on his shoulder was excruciatingly painful and as a last-ditch attempt, he planted his feet against the zombie’s stomach and kicked out with all the strength in his legs. 

The zombie flew off of him and went still. The wound protested at the violent movement and George gasped as it throbbed with pain. He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could. Without looking back, he ran toward the base of the nearest tree, climbing as fast as he could despite the protesting pain in his ankle and head. His progress was much slower than before, having to stop periodically when the agony became too much but after a few minutes, he finally got to a high enough branch where he was sure nothing would reach him easily. 

The moans and growls that had sounded far off were much closer now, and George tried to quiet his panting as a pair of zombies emerged from the darkness below him. Neither of them was any better looking than the first one, which finally seemed to have died as it laid unmoving on the ground. Unlike the zombie he had fought, which had thrown itself at him with reckless abandon, the pair was slowly shuffling around aimlessly. They didn’t seem to realize that right above them was a perfectly good human, ready to snack on. 

George watched with bated breath as more zombies joined the pair until through the gaps in leaves, he could count at least seven of the monsters underneath him. None of them seemed to have sensed his presence so slowly, he allowed himself to take inventory of his wounds and belongings. 

Nothing from his bag had fallen out during the struggle, and most importantly, the computer inside was damaged from the tumble he had taken. His water bottle was still securely in the side of his bag and his knife was once again holstered in his belt. The ringing in his head had subsided from a raging migraine into a more minor headache and his thoughts were clear and unjumbled. The greater concern was the wound on his ankle which was now dully throbbing. 

Carefully, George brought his leg closer to examine the wound. It was hard to see in the faint moonlight and the dark blood coating his ankle, but the wound didn't seem too deep. The torn flesh clung onto his skin, glued by the rapidly drying blood. The pain was fading away slowly, though and he took as a hopeful sign that the wound wasn't too severe. Once again, he furiously cursed his impatience and wished he had climbed to a safe place before night had fallen. 

His knowledge of first-aid was pitifully small but George knew that the first thing to do when handling an open wound was to wash it to keep it clear of infection. Gingerly, he unscrewed the top off of his water bottle and trickled water over his ankle. He bit down on his lips harshly, fighting the urge to cry out from the stinging pain as the water touched his exposed flesh. Without any proper medicine, like antibiotics, he could only hope that the water was enough to keep infection away. When he deemed the wound sufficiently clean, he took out the roll of medical tape and wrapped it around his ankle tightly. Satisfied with his treatment, he leaned back against the trunk of the tree. There was nothing he could do besides waiting out the zombies underneath him. The mutts hadn't come out in the daylight so hopefully, he would be able to travel again when dawn came. But George wasn't completely sure if he was out of the clear yet.

From his knowledge of zombies, gathered by the countless night he would binge-watch the horror movies he pirated with Wilbur and Niki, he knew the creatures were created from the side-effect of an experiment gone wrong. The bacteria, or whatever, would spread through a small percentage of the populace, turning them into mindless undead creatures that fed on human flesh. Even if you survived the encounter with them, a single bite would infect you with the same disease, turning you into one of them. 

Undoubtedly, these zombies were the creation of the Gamemakers, set to hunt down tributes within the arena. George didn't know how much these zombies resembled those he saw in those films, but if their bites transmitted whatever bacteria the Gamemakers created, he was utterly screwed. The mission he was entrusted with would be forfeited and everyone he was fighting for, save one at best, would be dead. His one consolation was that it didn't seem likely that the Gamemakers would be willing to turn a tribute into a puppet that wouldn't offer any real value of entertainment, not to mention, the Games would be over fairly quickly. But then again, this was the Games, and just when you thought you were playing it right, everything could go wrong.

 _Stop it,_ he told himself firmly. Worrying about something that might not even happen would just drive him insane. It didn't change what he had to accomplish here. Live or die, he would fight as long as there was still breath in his body and blood coursing through his veins. With that thought giving him a sort of irrational hope, he closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep, a luxury he might as well take advantage of now that he was in a relatively safe place. 

A scream, high and feminine, tore through the night air, startling George awake. For a moment, he forgot where he was, and how high up he was until he felt himself sliding off his precarious perch on the tree. Heart in his throat, he fought to keep his balance on the branch, gripping the bark underneath him tightly. George turned in the direction where the scream had come from to his right. The cry had sounded fairly close to where he was and as he looked over, a second desperate scream echoed out before it was gone abruptly, leaving a grim silence in its wake. On cue, the boom of the cannon rang out, heralding the death of another player. 

A hovercraft materialized from thin air, several dozen yards away from the tree where George was currently sat, and as he watched in despair, the metal claw lowered to the forest floor, picking up the remains of the fallen tribute. Whatever had killed the girl must've ripped her into pieces because the claw dipped down several more times to recover all of the body before it disappeared once again into the darkness of the night. 

A thin trickle of blood ran out from under his palm staining the wood underneath him. His tight grip on the rough bark had left a cut but George didn't care. Already, nine tributes were dead, forever beyond anyone's reach, and he hadn't even found his allies yet, much less began the construction of the EMP. At this rate, not only would he be unable to save any of his friends, everyone else would die as well. He had promised himself he wouldn't allow the atrocities of the Capitol to continue, and that he would bring an end to the twisted Games that had gone on for ninety-seven years too long. Whatever it took, George would have to bring an end to the Games before there was nothing to save.

\----|}{|----

It was during the afternoon of the second day when George felt the fatal consequences of his naivety. 

The zombies had dispersed the moment the sun had peeked over the horizon, shambling back to whatever dwelling they occupied during the day by the commands of the Gamemakers. He had climbed down, wary of his surroundings in case something tried to ambush him but nothing had. Even better, he hadn't felt any abnormal changes or negative effects from the zombie bite. He checked underneath the bandages and was relieved to find that the wound seemed relatively normal, or as normal as it could be when inflicted by something that wasn't supposed to exist at all. 

After receiving both his breakfast and direction from Phil again(District 4's this time, a small salty loaf adorned with seaweed), he set off again, with the determination that he would find his allies before nightfall. He had a clear goal, food, and coupled with the fact that he wasn't doomed to become a mindless flesh-eating monster, George couldn't help but feel more hopeful and certain that everything would go right at the end. 

Until the side effects of the bite kicked in. 

After several hours of traveling, the sun had sunk a little past the peak of its passage and George still hadn't found his friends yet. But the general direction he was going in led to one of the decrepit buildings that were scattered around the arena and his instincts told him that his friends were near that place. He had encountered a small shallow pond and stopped to refill his water bottle. As he squatted down, his body shuddered violently and he toppled over into the water with a splash. 

White-hot pain ripped through his body as he thrashed around on the floor of the pond, spraying it everywhere. A rough distorted scream filtered in through the haze of pain in his mind, and George realized it was coming from him. There was nothing he could do though. Every single cell fought to tear itself away from his body, anything to get away from the horrendous, mind-shredding pain that was coursing through him. The pain from last night couldn't compare, he thought feverishly as his body thrashed in the pool against his will. Whip lashes against his back couldn't compare. It felt as if acid was eating him from the inside out, except so much worse. His hands were clenched impossibly tight, and through his strained nerves, George registered a faint sensation in his left arm as one of the fragile bones in his wrist cracked from his grip. _Please, don't let there be anyone nearby,_ he thought incoherently before he sank into a sea of agony. 

\----|}{|----

Clay climbed his way carefully up the mossy stone stairs up to the fourth floor. The walls were dusty with age and grime, undecipherable graffitis showing through the thick expanse of vines. The building wasn't in the best condition, several large holes punched into the walls but it was a form of shelter that protected them from the weather outside. But the best thing was that the mutts that had come out during the night stayed away from it as if there was some sort of invisible boundary surrounding the building. 

He exited the stairwell on the fourth floor and opened the door that led into the spacious messy area. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling and were more or less, intact. Broken crates and chunks of debris littered the floor and Clay climbed over it all until he reached the pair sitting against the wall, sorting through the supplies strewn across the floor. 

"Any luck?" Sapnap asked right off the bat as Clay walked over. The younger boy looked up earnestly for any piece of good news but Clay shook his head as he sat down next to him, setting down the ax in his hand onto the ground. 

"No sign of him at all," he replied in frustration, taking a swig from the canteen in his bag. The taste of water mixed with the bitter tang of disappointment in his mouth. He had searched for some time around the perimeter of their makeshift base, setting snares but more importantly, looking for George. When the brunette had collapsed and disappeared into the white fog, he would've thrown himself into it if Niki and Sapnap hadn't stopped him. When the fog lifted, there was no sign of George and with no choice, they had plunged into the woods in hopes of finding their friend again. 

Even though he was trying to hide his dismay, Sapnap's disappointment was still visible. Clay felt guilt bloom in his chest and he looked down at the metallic canteen in his hands he was holding. He knew it was an unrealistic hope that he would find George that easily in such a vast area but he wanted to so badly. The sooner he could physically hold and ensure the brunette was safe, the better. 

"It'll be alright," Niki said, as she arranged the multitude of knives she had salvaged from the Temple. "I know George for a long time and he'll definitely find a way to get back to us. We didn't see his face in the sky last night and there haven't been barely any deaths since then. We just need to keep looking and making sure we'll be here when he finds us." 

Clay felt a sense of relief at Niki's words. She was right. There was no logical reason why George wasn't doing the same thing they were. He was still alive, almost certainly and if both of them were searching for the other, they were bound to come across each other. Not for the first time, he was glad he had someone as rational and logical as Niki on his side. "You're right," he said. "We'll fin-" 

A distant cry shattered the tranquil quiet surrounding them. Clay jumped up in alarm, head whipped up in alarm, feeling dread and panic consolidate in his stomach. The scream, distant as it sounded, was horribly familiar. Sapnap voiced what he was thinking in a small terrified voice. "Is that-?" 

"That's George." Niki had jumped up as well, body taut with tension. She turned to Clay with wide panicked eyes. "We need to go-" 

He didn't hear the rest of her sentence. Without a second thought, he snatched up his ax from the ground and bolted toward the stairwell, jumping down the flights of stairs with reckless abandon. Several times, his feet almost slipped out under him from the slippery moss but he determinedly kept running. Behind him, he could hear Sapnap's and Niki's pounding footsteps as they followed him.

Jumping over the rubble that coated the ground of the entrance of the building, Clay paused for a second as he tried to frantically figure out what direction the yell had come from. His answer came in the form of another desperate cry from the east and without any further thoughts, he plunged into the woods. 

Foliage exploded under his feet as he trampled the grass and any small bushes in his path. His feet pounded an endless tandem against the hard-packed dirt while George's cries echo continuously. It wasn't the sound of someone who had been taken by surprise but rather the sound of someone who either was in unspeakable pain or had no control of their mental facilities. Whatever it was, Clay was determined to get to George before any other tribute or predator found him. Suddenly, the yells faded away leaving behind a more fear-inducing silence, causing Clay to speed up. 

After minutes of flat-out sprinting, he stumbled upon the pond that he, Sapnap, and Niki had encountered when they had been traveling the day before. At first, he saw nothing that would suggest a struggle or anything out of sorts until he saw the partially submerged body in the pond. 

"George!" He ran over, dropping his ax on the ground as he lifted the unconscious brunette from the water. "George, it's me!" No response came forth and Clay quickly pressed his ear against George's chest, almost collapsing with relief when he felt the continued drumming of the heart. _It was okay,_ he told himself, over and over again as he squeezed the boy tighter. He was still alive, at least for now.

Behind him, Clay heard more footsteps getting closer and he turned to see Niki and Sapnap come into view as well, winded from the hard sprint they must've had to keep at to follow him. "Is he okay?!" Sapnap asked anxiously, quickly dashing over. "What happened to him?" 

"He's breathing," Clay assured the smaller boy. "But I don't think he's completely fine yet." he could feel George shuddering violently in his arms, and his face was twisted with pain, though Clay couldn't immediately see anything wrong.

"We'll have to check up on him when we get back." Niki's eyes were restlessly scanning the trees around them, a knife in her hand. "There's no way nobody else didn't hear that and we need to go before they get..." Her voice trailed away as her eyes became fixated on something behind Clay. 

"Well, isn't this a lovely surprise," a distantly familiar voice, sweetly feminine called. Clay quickly spun around, still clutching George. In front of him, on the other side of the pond, with a sinking heart, stood the pack of Career tributes, the worst possible enemies to have come. One of the girls, the raven-haired one he vaguely remembered from the first training day, stepped forward with a wide smile. "Everyone's here already." 

"Sapnap, take George," he whispered, handing over the brunette's unconscious body to the boy without looking away from the pack in front of him. He quickly picked up his discarded ax, determined to hold the tributes off until his friends could escape. "When I say so, run as fast as you can the hell away from here." 

"I can see you trying to come up with a plan, you know," the girl said in an amused voice. "But we're not interested in fighting you guys."

"What do you mean?" Clay called back in confusion. Behind him, he could sense Niki helping Sapnap carry George, the burden too much for an under-fed fourteen-year-old. 

"Just what I said." Behind the leading girl, the other Careers contradicted her words with their stoic and threatening glances and the obvious grip on their weapons. "I've been looking for you guys actually. We, the Careers, have decided to give you people the once in a lifetime chance of an alliance with us." At Clay's confused expression, she continued. "Let me explain. I can tell you guys are strong. You've scored pretty high during the training sessions for a group of people coming from the weaker districts. And you have numbers. We don't need to be enemies, at least not yet. Wouldn't it be better to help each other?" The girl walked forward with a welcoming gesture. "What do you say, hm?" 

"If you're so interested in being allies, why didn't you approach us before we came into the arena?" Clay asked. He didn't necessarily trust the girl and most definitely not the rest of the Careers behind her. "And what's to say you won't just stab us in the back the moment we agree?" 

The girl gave a small shrug. "I wanted to make sure that your scores weren't just a fluke. If you can't even survive the first day on your own, what's the point of weighing myself down with you people? But you have survived and admirably so." Everything about this girl radiated honesty and despite himself, Clay could feel himself agreeing with her logical reasoning. "And we won't stab you in the back as you say. Now that I've seen how dangerous the nights are, we need as many people as possible to keep watch and fight. When more people start dying, we'll give you the chance to split away before we start coming after you. Besides, your friend doesn't seem to be doing so well back there. We have medicine back at the Temple I can use to help him." Clay perked up at the mention of medicine. None of them had managed to get any form of medicine when they ran into the forest and whatever had taken George would probably require the high-quality treatment from the Capitol. The girl stopped walking, standing right in front of him. Her lips curled into a small yet dazzling smile and he didn't even try to stop her as she tapped his chest with a single perfect fingernail. "Come on, I'll make it worth your while."

Clay was about to open his mouth to say something, whether to agree or not, he wasn't sure because suddenly, Niki was beside him, shoving the girl back. Taken by surprise, the raven-haired fell into the pond with a shriek. "What the hell is your problem?" she snarled, every trace of the kind, innocent person disappearing as she scrambled to her feet 

"My problem is you," Niki shot back, glaring down at the drenched figure in the pond. "Trying to manipulate us into joining up with your group, telling us you think we can be assets when your eyes have been practically eating Clay. If you think we've done so impressive in the training sessions, can you even tell us what scores the rest of us got besides Clay?" 

In response, the girl simply stood there, her eyes burning into Niki's in silence. "That's what I thought," Niki said. "You've never noticed the rest of us besides Clay. Besides, I've seen how you've been glaring at George during the training sessions whenever Clay talked to him. I bet the first chance you get, you'll kill George in some kind of accident so you can get Clay to yourself." She turned to Clay, fixing him with a determined look. "We can't let Geroge anywhere them. If we do, they'll kill him and the rest of us." 

"But we need the medicine for George," he replied. "We don't have any to treat him with and he's in bad shape."

"How do we know she's not lying about that? And even if they do, they'll most definitely find a way to kill him," Niki argued. "Are you willing to take that chance? And we can always get medicine from supply drops from our mentors." 

Clay thought about it. He glanced over at the group of Careers assembled in front of him. Still, now that he wasn't being distracted by the raven-haired girl, he didn't trust them in the slightest to honor an alliance. "You're right," he said finally. "We need to go, like right now." 

"Looks like your plan fell to pieces." One of the Careers, a massive blonde stepped forward, pointing her spear right at Clay. "I told you we should've killed them right from the get-go, but whatever." The other Careers stepped forward as well, eager grins on their faces, their weapons in their hands. "You guys are outnumbered and out skilled. There's no way you can win this." 

In reply, Niki's hands lashed out in a blur, sending two knives streaking across the small pool of water. One of the projectiles sunk into the blonde's arm, the other into her thigh. Roaring in pain, the blonde collapsed, dropping her sword. The other Careers snarled and charged forth, sending up an explosion of water.

"GO!" Clay pushed Niki behind him, his ax raised to defend against the oncoming tributes. "Get George and Sapnap outta here! I'll keep them back!" Without waiting for a reply, he swept his ax through the air, meeting the descending sword in a shower of sparks. 

Before the tribute could follow up with another strike, Clay spun in a half-circle, flinging the sword to the side and pulling the Career off-balance. His leg shot out, smashing against the bigger male's sternum, sending him stumbling back. Out of the corner of his eye, a spear shot forth, aiming for his neck. Quickly, Clay whipped his head back before the point punctured him. Another sword followed up, and he parried it off the flat side of his ax. With a deft swipe, he opened a long thin cut along the attacking girl's forearm. 

"Forget about him!" The raven-haired girl was out of the water, a long thin knife in her hands. "We need to go after those other guys before we lose them!" On cue, the other girl wielding the spear dashed after the first girl. 

"Stop!" Clay turned to chase after the pair as they sprinted in the direction his friends had gone into. Before he could take more than a few steps, a heavy kick connected with his side. He was blown off his feet and flung back into the rough dirt. Disoriented, Clay quickly got to his feet, his ax raised defensively.

"Like I'm letting you get away that easily." The male Career slashed wildly with his sword, driving Clay back. "You think your puny ax skills can stand up against me? All of you are idiots, thinking you can use your pretty words and face! I'm going to be the one that wins this!" A cannon boomed and the Career smiled. "Looks like one down already. Your friends really aren't much use, are they, District 7?" 

A red haze of fury clouded Clay's vision and as the Career pulled his sword back to slash again, he stepped into the other male's reach and slammed the hilt of his ax against the tribute's temple. With a gasp of pain, the boy reeled backward, blood seeping from the open wound on his head but not unconscious, which Clay had been aiming for. "What, did you think that'll knock me out? It was a nice hit but you're going have to do better than that!" The Career lunged forward again, his sword raised, only to fall to the ground, weapon falling out of his hand.

For a second, Clay was confused, not understanding the sudden collapse or why a spray of scarlet painted the air until he saw the figure behind the Career. "Well, God damn it," a familiar monotone voice said. Techno was geared up to the max, a bag slung over his back, several knives on a belt across his chest, and a guard over one of his shoulders. A long sword was in his grip, dripping red blood slowly onto the ground. His eyes were narrowed in a stoic glare and his mouth twisted into a frown. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to be the one to kill you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think Techno'll team with George and friends? Nope, the Blood God is out for blood and he doesn't care where he gets it from! Leave comments on what you think about this turn of events!  
> Also, from now on, I'll be making more regular updates on this fanfic now that my life is less chaotic. Thanks for being patient and waiting for me to get my shit together XD!


	10. The Will to Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10, things get spicy! Also from now on, I'll be putting edgy chapter titles because why the hell not XD?   
> Anyway, enjoy!

Niki's vision bobbed erratically as she and Sapnap ran as fast as they could through the towering pine forest, or as fast as they could while carrying a heavy, unconscious body. It didn't help that George was soaking wet, the water weighing them down. Even so, together, they sprinted their way back to their makeshift base, the derelict building. 

Behind them, she could hear the sounds of more footsteps join theirs, heavier and faster. At the rate they were going, the headstart that Clay had given them was going to be wasted. Fervently, Niki tried to come up with a plausible course of action. 

"What are we going to do?" Sapnap asked, speaking through his ragged pants. Even before he came into the Capitol, the boy was already too skinny for his age, malnourished and weak. He couldn't keep running for an extended period of time, weighed down by a heavier body. "We're not going to be able to outrun them!" 

"I'm thinking," Niki replied breathlessly. Truth be told, the toll was also growing on her and she doubted they would be able to make it back to their hideout without collapsing. The footsteps of their pursers were also growing louder, and their options were running thin. _Screw it,_ she thought furiously. "Sapnap, stop!" THe both of them skidded to a stop and the boy looked at her hopefully, certain that she had a plan to save them. "Okay, I got an idea." Niki shoved George into the brunette's arms. "Find somewhere far away from here and hide. Get back to the building if you can but if you can't, hide in the bushes or something." She pulled a pair of long daggers from her belt and gripped them determinedly. "I'll stop them."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Sapnap replied, disbelief in his voice. "You can't fight them, you'll die!" 

"There's no other choice!" Niki snapped, turning away in the direction of the incoming footsteps. "Just go!" 

"No, I'm not leaving you," Sapnap replied. The brunette lowered George to the ground and pulled out the short thick sword Clay had gotten for him from his belt, swallowing down his fear. "If you're fighting, so am I." His grip on the weapon was unsteady and his arms trembled slightly from the weight of the blade. 

"You are most definitely not," Niki replied, equally exasperated and infuriated. "What I really need you to-" 

"You two, stop fighting and come with me now!" Niki whipped around at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, her blade whipping out in a flash, her heart in her throat. The tribute back-pedaled quickly, his hands in the air. "Woah Woah, I'm not here to fight!"

"Who are you?" Niki snarled, her grip unrelenting on the hilt. "What do you want?" 

"I'm here to help, I swear." The tribute didn't seem to have any weapons on him, or much of anything really, besides a small bag. Curly brown hair and apprehensive gray eyes, combined with his thin frame, the boy didn't seem threatening in the slightest. Niki was fairly sure if it came to a fight, she would be able to easily overpower him. "If you want to live, then you need to come with me now." 

"How can we trust you?" Sapnap shot at the boy. "We don't even know who you are." 

"It's not like you have much of a choice." As if to prove his point, the footsteps were getting alarmingly close. "Again, I promise I won't try anything."

Niki hesitated, her eyes flickering to Sapnap's. Neither of them had much strength left and even if they were at their best, their chances of winning a fight against two Careers were, at best, minimal. Gritting her teeth, she finally came to a decision. "Fine," she replied. "We'll go with you." If worst comes to worst, she could always kill the skinny boy. Her fingers trembled from the thought and she forced her grip to steady. 

Without hesitation, the boy came over and helped Sapnap support George's unconscious body. Niki tensed up, sure that something bad was about to happen but nothing did. "Follow me." 

The trio began running again, though this time in another direction than where they were going. Their legs pumped faster than before, spurred on by the advancing voices of their pursuers. 

"Stop." The boy skidded to a stop, sliding in the grass outside of a seemingly open area, the same scenery as the one they've been running through. "We can hide here." 

"Where?" Niki asked, gasping for air, hands on her knees. "There's nowhere to hide here." 

"Watch," the brunette replied simply. He walked over to one of the many dense bushes and swept them aside. "Get in." 

Beneath the bushes was a small pit, barely enough room for two people. Now that the thick shrubs were pushed aside, Niki could see how well the hole was hidden, invisible beneath all the foliage unless someone was looking at it unusually closely. The boy clambered into the pit and looked back at them. "Come on unless you want to die." 

Quickly, Niki and Sapnap climbed into the hole, propping George against one side of the wall. The boy reached around Sapnap and pulled the layers of leaves over their heads throwing them into darkness, spotted with little pockets of light from the few gaps in the foliage. Her back pressed roughly against the dirt wall in the cramped space, Niki clasped a hand over her mouth as the footsteps pounded above them before coming to a stop almost directly on top of them. 

"Where the hell did they go?" The voice of the raven-haired girl that had tried to coerce Clay into an alliance rang out and Niki almost jumped at the proximity of it. Beside her, she could feel Sapnap's trembling body through her shoulder. In the semi-darkness, the barely concealed fear in his bright eyes was just as prominent. It was understandable. A single careless sound, a reckless movement, or something totally out of their control could instantly expose them and blow their covers, leaving them at the mercy of two Careers. Considering how she had destroyed the District 4 girl's scheme, Niki was sure that none of them would be given the mercy of a quick death if they were caught. Carefully, she placed a hand on the brunette's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. She felt the tension leave the boy's body slowly, relaxing gradually under her palm. "Did they hide somewhere nearby?" 

"Well, they're not in the trees. Don't know how they would've gotten up there dragging a body, anyway," a second voice said, heavy with irritation. "What do we do now, genius? We've left Mark behind to deal with that guy alone and we got nothing to show for it." 

"Don't say it like it's my fault," the first girl snapped. "If it weren't for me, all of you would've died that first day. Besides, Mark is more than capable of killing that guy. And if he can't, then we don't need him anyway." Out of nowhere, a cannon boomed. Under Niki's hand, she felt Sapna jump from the sound, the movement causing the leaves above them to rustle slightly. Niki went completely still, not even breathing as she waited in silent terror for the bush above them to be thrown aside. Thankfully, the aftermath of the cannon's boom seemed to have masked whatever sounds they had emitted and neither of the Careers gave any indication that they had heard anything of suspicion. "See? He's already done. I told you Mark could handle him." 

"And yet you don't look sad at all that your wanna-be boy toy just kicked the bucket," the other girl replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm and amusement. 

"I don't want him anymore." The walls of the earthen pit sent vibrations down Niki's back as the Careers searched the area, though it was clear, by their conversation, neither of them was looking particularly carefully. "He's so attached to that little slut he's got wrapped around his finger that it's pathetic. Well, if he wants him so badly, then they can die together."

"So cold. I would've thought you would be more-" A second cannon boom cut through the girl's words, swallowing up the voices. There was a hushed stillness left in its wake, as both groups, Niki's and the Careers, tried to figure out what the second death call implied. "What the fuck? Did Mark die?"

"There's no way," the first girl replied, though her voice was uncertain. "It must've been someone else. There are still tons of tributes left."

"I'm going back. If he's dead, then I'm not letting however kill him get away alive." More footsteps rang out except this time, it was heading away from them. 

"Well, I'm not," the District 4 Career said. "I'm getting the hell away from here. Whoever killed Mark isn't gonna be your average tribute. The last thing I want is to get jumped because I thought going towards the killer is a brilliant idea. If you want to get revenge or whatever, then go ahead. I'm getting as far away from here as possible." Another set of feet tramped away, fading away into the distance. After a brief moment of silence, the other girl muttered, "Fuck it" before following her partner, leaving behind an echoing stillness. 

It was another five minutes before any of them dared to move a muscle. Finally, the boy shuffled slightly, shifting positions so he could reach up and remove the cover of foliage above them. "I think they're gone for good," he whispered, carefully peeking out through the leaves. "Their footprints lead away from the building you guys were using so we should be safe if we make a run back to it right now." He climbed out of the pit and helped Sapnao carry George out. 

"How did you know we've been using that building?" Sapnap asked eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Have you been spying on us?" 

"Yes," the boy replied bluntly. He pointed to George. "Your friend has an agreement to uphold, and I couldn't find him. I knew you were his friends so I figured if I stay close, I'll eventually be able to meet up with him." 

"George never told me anything about you," Niki said, a hand on her knife. "Who are you?" 

"Karl Jacobs, District 5," he answered. "I wasn't planning to reveal myself to you guys until George was here but you guys look like you needed some help." When Niki opened her mouth to say something, he added, "Look, I'm sure you have tons of questions but I'll answer them when we're somewhere safer." 

"Fine," Niki conceded. "Help Sapnap carry George back. If you betray us, I won't let you die easily." She took off the backpack she was carrying and slung it over Sapnap's back, leaving herself only with her knives. 

"Wait, Niki, where are you going?" Sapnap asked. 

"I'm going back," she replied, turning away, poised to run. "I don't believe Clay's dead. He's definitely still fighting and I'm going back to help him. I'll run faster without the bag weighing me down." _And the supplies will help you if I end up dead,_ she thought, unwilling to say it out loud. "Stay safe, okay?" And without looking back, she ran back toward the pond.

\----|}{|----

"Why do look so surprised?" Techno asked, lips curling up into a sneer. "Did you think I'll let you go just because we had a nice dinner together? Please, I'm not that sentimental." 

"I don't have time for this," Clay replied. As far as he knew, the two Careers that had run after Niki and Sapnap were still chasing them. He couldn't afford to stay here. "Get out of my way." 

"You'll need to beat me then," the pink-haired boy said. "Kill me like I killed that blonde girl back there and this guy. Speaking of which, shouldn't there be a cannon for this guy?" he added, prodding the body with his foot. Without warning, he raised his sword and plunged it into the still Career's back, right over the heart. 

The boy's body spasmed violently under Techno's sword, and a choked cry emitted from him before with a final twitch, he went still. This time, the boom of a cannon rolled over the arena, signaling the death of the Career. "There we go," Techno said, pulling his sword out, spraying blood around them. The air became tinged with the repulsive metallic scent of the fluid and Clay could feel bile rising in his throat. One of Techno's canines poked outwards as the boy observed his expression. "Why are you looking at me like that? What's wrong with killing an enemy?" 

Clay forced down the queasiness in his throat and he moved to shove by the brute. "Just shut up and get out of my way," he snarled, fighting the roiling of his stomach. The smell of the blood was growing thicker by the second and rivers of it flowed under his boots. 

Techno's sword shot out, a blur of metal flashing toward his neck. Clay's reflexes engaged before his mind could even react, throwing himself to the side. He felt the path of the blade ripple through the air and he quickly jumped back, raising his ax in defense. "You're the one who needs to shut up," Techno snapped, his eyes blazing in fury. His usual monotone voice was clouded with anger and disgust as he leveled his sword at Clay. "You're so naive it makes me sick. I don't know what kind of delusion you've fooled yourself into but this is your reality now. I told your little boyfriend already and I'll tell you now. I'm not your ally and I'm certainly not your friend. If you want to rescue your friends so badly, then you'll need to kill me!" 

A red haze of anger colored Clay's vision. His desperation gave way to rage and he could feel it bubbling up in his throat. "If you won't move, I'll make you!" He sprung forward, swinging his ax at the boy in front of him.

Techno raised his sword, stopping his blow dead. Clay felt the vibrations from the clash travel up his arm and without hesitating, he spun around, going for another strike, this time with the flat of his blade toward the pink-haired tribute's head. If he could incapacitate Techno now, he just might be able to get to his friends before the Careers did. He put all his strength into the swing, determined to knock out the boy. 

Fast as lightning, Techno's hand shot out and grabbed his arm, stopping its movement. Clay tried to pull his arm back but the grip on his wrist was painfully tight and he couldn't even move it, despite how much he struggled. "Trying to knock me out with the flat of the blade?" the boy sneered. "You think you have the luxury of defeating me like that? That's what I meant when I said you're naive!" Using the bruising grip he had on Clay, Techno threw him through the air. The incredible strength of the boy sent him flying a good dozen yards before he crashed against the trunk of a tree. Pain exploded in his back, searingly white and hot and he slid to the ground, gasping for air. "If you want to play it like that, I'll simply cut you down here and now."

Techno shoved his sword into the ground and whipped out two knives from his belt. His hands lashed out, sending the weapons spinning rapidly toward him, wheels of light slicing their way through the air. Clay threw himself out of their path, ignoring the blinding fire in his back. One of the knives thunked into the trunk of the tree and the other sliced a long cut over his left arm, ripping through the thick fabric of his hoodie with ease. The cut itself wasn't deep but it stung painfully.

A shadow fell over Clay and he quickly looked up to see Techno descending on him. From the angle, it looked like the boy had kicked himself off using one of the trees nearby, closing the distance rapidly. He didn't have much time to marvel at the other's sheer physical strength though, barely getting his ax up in time to deflect Techno's sword. His legs almost crumpled underneath him from the force behind the blow but he stood firm and with a yell, he flung the sword aside. Instead of retreating, Techno simply pressed forth, lashing out in a wild frenzied whirlwind of steel that he was barely able to defend against. Another cut opened on his right forearm, oozing blood into the air and in retaliation, Clay's own ax shot forth, scraping against flesh.

The wound seemed only to make Techno even wilder and his blows strengthened, each hammering clash turning Clay's arm numb. But with the increase in strength also came less controlled swings, making it easier for Clay to find an opening. All he had to do was wait for an opportunity and simply weather the blows for now. 

"What are you doing?" Techno yelled as he rained more assaults down. "Are you just going to defend constantly?! How long do you think you can keep that up?!" The boy jumped back a few steps, his hand flying to the belt over his chest, dislodging another knife from its sheath. With a flick of his wrist, Techno's knife came flipping end over end toward Clay's face. With a swipe of his ax, he deflected the knife, changing its trajectory upwards. He quickly grabbed the knife and flung it back toward its owner. Taken by surprise, Techno barely moved in time to dodge it. As it was, the knife tore through his hoodie and opened a shallow cut on his ribs.

Without wasting his advantage, Clay charged forward while Techno was off balance and swept the boy's legs out from under him. As he was going down, Clay knocked the sword out of his hand, effectively disarming his opponent, the weapon flying off somewhere into the bushes. Using his knee, he pinned one of Techno's arms underneath him, his ax at the boy's neck. 

For a moment, the only sound was their heavy breathing as both of them dragged oxygen into their heaving lungs. Blood dripped down periodically from Clay's cuts onto the grass, staining it a deep crimson. "I'm not going to kill you," Clay said, through his pants. "Just leave me-OOF!" Before he could finish his sentence, Techno's fist flew out and punched him straight in the face. 

Clay reeled back, blinded by the pain and the reflexive tears in his eyes. The blow had landed squarely on his jaws, making it take the burnt of the impact. His grip on Techno's arm relaxed and the next instant, a foot slammed into his abdomen. The crushing blow sent him rolling across the forest floor, throwing him off of his opponent. 

"You think you've won just because you've taken away my sword?!" He could barely hear Techno's yell over the ringing in his ears. A trickle of blood leaked from his nose steadily and he wiped the flow with a shaking hand, smearing it over his face. "I don't need a sword to be able to kill you!" He looked up to see the boy practically fuming with rage, red eyes narrowed in a glare, and hands curled at his side. "YOUR STUPIDITY IS SO IRRITATING!!" he roared. 

For the first time, Clay felt a shiver of bone-chilling fear race down his spine, his grip on his ax unsteady. The sheer force of Techno's bloodlust seemed to shake the very air, vibrating the molecular bonds. _No,_ he thought, standing up on trembling legs. _It's not bloodlust. It's his will to live._ And he could understand that, the burning desire to preserve one's life. Against such a fiercely burning fire, he knew he was outmatched. But he couldn't just give up now, not until he was sure his friends were safe. "Your persistence is what's irritating," he said, speaking through the swelling bruise on his jaw. "I won't let you kill me that easily." 

Techno sprung forward, kicking up dirt in his rapid charge. His fist came flying toward Clay's face, faster than anything he had seen before. He brought his arm up to block the blow, feeling the punch send waves of pain up his body. He gritted his teeth against the agony of his cuts and bruises, and retaliated with the hilt of his ax, slamming it into Techno's ribs. The boy grunted in pain before he began a rapid flurry of jabs, fists blurring into a single continuous barrage. Clay deflected the assault using his ax and arms to defend as best as he could.

When Techno pulled his arm back for a stronger strike, Clay went for the opening. He slipped around the punch, and as hard as he could, socked the pink-haired boy in the stomach, feeling the solidness of his opponent's body against his fist. It was all the strength he could muster right now and he hoped it was enough to stop this monster of a boy. "Please," he groaned. "Just do down already." 

In an instant, a rough hand grabbed his head. "Not happening," Techno snarled. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you win." He pulled his head back and then smashed his forehead into Clay's skull. 

Bright stars exploded in Clay's vision, blindingly white and painful. His head felt as if it was split in half with an ax repeatedly, instead of simply getting headbutted. He could feel himself crumbling to the ground, though he felt oddly detached from his body as if he was experiencing everything through a wall. But apparently, Techno wasn't done yet. The boy grabbed him by the face and with a deft movement, slammed him into the ground. 

A searing needle of white-hot pain lanced through his skull and he yelled out as another wave of agony flooded his body. He was done for. He couldn't even find the strength to move his arms anymore. His mind felt clouded and he could barely form a coherent thought. Through dull senses, he felt a foot rest on his chest, digging into his ribcage. 

"Why didn't you cut me with your ax?" Techno asked standing over Clay. "If you had, this fight would've been over already. You could've killed me and yet you didn't." 

"I'm not like you," Clay mumbled through numb lips. "I won't just cut down anyone just so I can live. I won't do it." 

"Then why are you fighting?" Techno sneered, curling his lips in disdain. "Kill or be killed. That's the law of this arena. If you can't do that, then you should've killed yourself on the first day and save the rest of us the hassle." 

"I'm fighting to protect my friends," Clay snapped back, the simple action racking his body with aches. "I won't just roll over and die unless they're safe. I'll protect until my last dying breath." 

There was a slight pause in the air as Techno looked at him with a blank expression. "That's bullshit," he snarled. "Fight to protect? Don't be ridiculous. If you can't find the strength to fight for yourself, then how can you protect anything?" His grip on the knife visibly tightened, knuckles turning white. "Especially the way you fight. You refuse to kill and yet you think you can protect those you care about? You're so weak, it's pathetic." He raised the blade, the metal glinting in the sunlight. Techno looked down at him with an expression that was both disgusted and full of pity. "Let me tell you something before you die. A sheathed blade protects no one, much less those you want to save." 

The knife descended in a metallic flash and determinedly, Clay refused to look away or close his eyes. If he was going to die, he would die with dignity instead of allowing the world to see how much his opponent's words had shaken him. He just felt the prick of the knife against his skin before it was gone. 

Techno lurched back, pressing a hand over his arm, with a surprised grunt. The knife was no longer in his hands but spinning through the air before sinking harmlessly into the grass. In confusion, Clay quickly sat up, despite the protesting pain in his head. What had happened? 

"Back off, Techno, or the next knife goes into your face!" A familiar voice yelled. Clay turned around to see Niki standing a few yards away, a knife in one hand and the other presumably already have been thrown. He almost collapsed with relief at seeing her unharmed. If she was here, then it certainly meant that George and Sapnap were nearby or safe. She wouldn't leave them otherwise. 

"Seriously?" Techno growled. "You couldn't have come a few seconds later? I was just about to finish him off!" 

"That's why I'm here, you asshole!" Niki replied determinedly holding her stance and pulling out another knife. "I'm not letting you kill any of my friends!"

"Lame." In a flash, the pink-haired boy charged to the side. Niki threw one of her knives, just barely missing his leg. The boy scooped up his fallen sword and held it in a defensive position over his chest. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I'm outta here. This is taking too long and I'm not sticking around to find out whatever shows up from all the fighting." He turned around, prepared to flee back into the woods. He looked back over his shoulder, eyes glaring a terrifying scarlet red. "But a word of advice. Your little group better stay together from now. If I catch even one of you on your own, I'll crush you into the dirt, no questions asked. Don't expect mercy from me or you'll regret it." He looked down at Clay's crumpled figure on the ground. "And remember what've I told you. If you really want to protect your friends, then get rid of whatever idealistic morals you have. Kill or be killed. That's your reality now, whether you like it or not." And without another word, he looked away and disappeared into the shadows of the woods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Techno badass or is he badass? Tell me what you think in the comments! And leave your opinion on the art for this chapter please! Constructive criticism welcome!


	11. No Tomorrow Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, I change my username. I didn't really like the previous ones all that much and spent an unholy amount of time trying to think up a new one. For anyone confused on why this story is now made by "wusane", really sorry!  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

A chilling silence lingered in the wake of Techno's departure, his threat hanging in the air. A bead of sweat trickled down his face and Clay took in a shuddering breath, the simple action causing his throat to throb with pain. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath. Techno's very presence felt overwhelmingly heavy, enough to almost suffocate him from fear. "Is he really gone?" he croaked. 

"Yeah," Niki replied, her own voice a little unsteady, clearly forcing herself to calm down. Her forehead was beaded with sweat as well and the ragged look in her eyes told him otherwise through, revealing exactly how shaken up she was. "What even is he? Is he really a human?"

"I don't know." A sharp thorn of pain pulsed in his head again and he doubled over in pain, clutching his skull.

"Hey, Clay!" Niki quickly ran over, kneeling beside him. "Jesus, you're a bloody mess. We need to get out of here. Techno wasn't wrong about things homing in on us now. I could hear you two fighting way back as I was coming here. Come on, I'll help you."

"Where's Sapnap and George?" Clay asked as Niki heaved him up, stumbling under his weight. "I don't see them here."

"They should be back at the building right now," Niki replied. "The Careers ran when they heard they sho the cannons and I had Sapnap take George back with Karl." 

"Who?" Clay turned to Niki in confusion. He racked his muddled brain for any recollection of the name. Nothing came up though, drawing a blank. "Who's that? I don't know who he is." 

“You neither?” Their progress was slow with a smaller girl having to support his weight causing them to move at a stumbling pace. “ he showed up just as we were about to be caught and he claimed George allied with him before the Games started. I thought George would have at least told you if he hadn’t told me about him.” She paused and added, “ I don't know if we can trust him.”

“And yet you left Sapnap alone with him?” Clay’s voice came out sharper than he intended, taut with disbelief. 

At his words, Niki bit her lips nervously. “It seemed like the best decision at the time. I owed it to George to at least make sure if you were dead or alive and it would've been safer for Sapnap to get away from the fight than to go toward it. Besides, the tribute wasn't much bigger than Sapnap and he didn't have any weapons as far as I can see. If it came down to a fight, Sapnap should have the upper hand." 

"You shouldn't have left him to come after me," Clay said. Behind them, he could hear the quiet thrum of a hovercraft's engine, presumably here to finally take away the corpses of both of Techno's victims. "Both of us could've been killed and that wouldn't have benefited anyone." 

"George would never have forgiven me if you died when I could've saved you as I did," Niki replied, readjusting the arm thrown over her shoulder. "And frankly, I wouldn't have either." 

"He would've. And if he doesn't, he absolutely should," he mumbled in reply. His strength was slowly returning to his numb limbs, though it was a far cry from his best. "I'm responsible for my own life. You don't have any obligation to risk yourself for me."

Niki turned to give him a disbelieving look. "What the hell are you talking about? I swear, if you say something like that again, I'm leaving you here for someone else to find." Her head swiveled back to the front, determinedly focusing on their path. "Putting aside whatever I owe George, you're also my friend, despite how short of a time I've known you. And Sapnap's as well. That's more than enough reason to come back and make sure you're okay, no matter what. So stop acting all heroic and noble." 

A warm glow ignited in Clay's chest, a mixture of surprise and comforting and he quickly turned his face down to the ground to hide whatever emotion was on display. He didn't know why he was so surprised. That's what friends did, watch each other's backs and protect one another. "Yeah," he said thickly. "You're right." 

"As long as you understand," Niki huffed. "Now we both really need to be quiet. We don't want to attract any more attention than we already have." The two of them trudged o, letting the natural sounds of the forest fill their silence and keeping an ear out for any unnatural ones. Everything from the rustling of the leaves and grass to the twittering cries of the birds set Clay's nerves on edge. He hated the suspense, feeling needles of anticipation prick at his skin. 

By the time they reached the entrance of their building, the sun was far overhead, beating down directly on their necks. It was an enormous relief to finally stumble into the coll shade of the stone. away from the blazing orb in the sky.

Now that they were finally here, Clay felt his uneasiness go up a few notches. It might've just been his anxiety speaking but the structure felt unnaturally silent as if nothing had disturbed it since the start of the Games. The shadows that had seemed so inconsequential and harmless before now bore a sinister quality and Clay found himself peering closely at every fold of darkness to make sure nothing was hiding there. "Sapnap?" Niki called hesitantly into the gloom. "George?"

"Niki?" At the sound of Sapnap's voice, Clay sagged with relief, feeling Niki do the same, the tension bleeding out of their bodies. Every horrible scenario he had been imaging was blown into thin air by the familiar voice and he relaxed fully for the first time since his battle with Techno. Footsteps tapped softly on the floor and cautiously, Sapnap's head peeked around the corner of the hallway that led to the stairs. The brunette gave an audible breath of relief as he caught sight of them silhouetted in the entrance. "Oh thank fuckin' God, you're all right." 

Clay unslung his arm from Niki's shoulder and wobbled his way over to Sapnap, pulling him into a bone-breaking embrace that the boy returned without hesitation. "I'm glad you're okay," he whispered, patting the boy's matter dark hair. 

"Me too," Sapnap replied, a smile evident in his voice. Clay gave a choked laugh in response, clutching the boy tighter. It was at times like these when Sapnap reminded him painfully of his own younger sister, joking to hide their vulnerability and giving him that toothy grin. They were even about the same age which made it all the more heart-breakingly terrifying that Drista could be forced into these Games. "Can you let me go now? You're going to break my ribs if you keep strangling me like this. And you're dripping blood on me." 

"Sorry." He released Sapnap and caught sight of the other person behind the boy. Standing a good distance away at the foot of the stairs was an unfamiliar thin tribute. Casually as he could, he pushed Sapnap behind him as he walked until he was in front of the boy. Up close, it was almost funny how much he towered over him. "You're Karl, right?" 

"Yep," the boy replied. His hands fidgeted slightly, his movements filled with nervousness. _Niki was right_ , Clay thought. Even though he seemed to be at least a year older than Sapnap, they were about the same build and height. With his sword, Sapnap would easily be able to at least defend himself. "That's me."

"Thanks for your help," Clay said, extending a hand. "If it weren't for you, I don't think all of us would've been able to make it back here alive." 

"No problem. It was to our mutual benefit, anyway," Karl responded, shaking his hand. His grip was surprisingly strong and the look in his eyes wasn't the look of someone submissive. 

"Looks like it," Niki said, stepping forward. She turned to Sapnap. "Sapnap, where's George?" 

"He's up on the fourth floor," Sapnap replied. "I thought if someone else did manage to find us, it would be safer for George to not be near us."

"Well, let's go up, then," Clay said. Sapnap started to walk forward to ascend the stairs but he held him back. "Karl, you can go up first." 

With a shrug, the boy turned and started climbing. Clay followed him, keeping a careful eye on him. "You still don't trust me, do you? What, you think I'm going to try something when I'm outnumbered like this?" Karl asked. "You alone could probably snap me like a twig." 

"It's a precautionary measure," Clay replied, trying to hide his limp. He had recovered enough to walk on his own, but only barely. "Until we're sure you're telling the truth about being George's ally, I can't trust you fully." 

"Suit yourself," Karl said, with a shrug. With his intentions made clear, Clay focused on climbing the rest of the flight unit they reached the fourth floor. The slippery moss that coated the stairs in places didn't help his already compromised limbs and more than once he felt Sapnap steady him just as he was about to slip. Finally, after an arduous climb, they reached their floor.

Nothing had changed when they were gone, same fractured glass walls, same piles of debris, and scattered crates. But now, against the wall across from the window, was George, propped up and still very much unconscious. 

Clay immediately ran over, almost tripping over his feet in his haste. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, his voice rising in panic. George's body was still trembling as if to fight off a non-existent wind and perspiration coated his forehead. He was clearly in pain but there didn't seem to be anything obvious that was causing it. "Why hasn't he woken up yet?" 

"Let me see." Niki placed a hand carefully over the brunette's forehead. "He's freezing," she said, clearly worried. "His skin feels like a block of ice." 

Clay took one of George's inanimate hands in his own and found that Niki was right. There was no warmth at all in his hands even though he had been sitting in the sunlight filtering in from the window. "You brought George's bag from the pond right, Sapnap?" he asked, turning to the boy. Sapnap nodded and unslung the second bag on his shoulder. "Can you look through it to see if there's anything we can use to help him?" 

"I'm on it." As Sapnap shifted through George's bag, Karl came over and kneeled next to George. Instinctively, Clay stiffened and he had to stop himself from telling the unfamiliar boy to back off. 

"I think he might be poisoned," Karl said, looking closely at George's face. "There isn't really any other explanation for why he's still like this." He pointed to George's body. "We should probably find the place where the poison entered his body and then go from there."

It wasn't much but it was a place to start. Sapnap took out the medkit in George’s bag and together, Clay and Niki examined George for any injuries. They found the bandaged ankle quickly and carefully, they unwrapped the fabric wound around it. As the wound was exposed, Clay had to stifle a surprised gasp. 

The deep indents in George’s ankle leaked blood sluggishly. The pattern of the marks suggested a wild animal but no animal had a jaw shaped like that. Whatever it was, it had punched right through the flesh, penetrating the muscles below. 

“Holy shit,” Sapnap whispered, a queasy expression on his face. Clay couldn’t blame him. The sight was pretty gruesome and being from District 12, the boy probably didn’t see injuries like these very often. 

“It looks bad,” Karl said, putting a shoulder on Sapnap’s shoulder. “But your friend had the brains to clean the cuts before bandaging it so it isn’t as bad as it could be. Do you have any medicine to treat this?” he asked, turning to Niki and Clay. 

“No, we don’t,” Niki said hesitantly, glancing at Clay for a split second. He knew she was remembering how they had refused the Career’s offer before, so confidently and sure of themselves. But now, really facing the gravity of their situation, the decision must’ve seen a little rash. 

“You weren’t wrong,” he told Niki encouragingly. “You were right to refuse them, Niki. Now that it’s over, I know we couldn’t trust them. We’ll cure George, I’m sure of it.” 

Niki nodded, a grateful expression on her face. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Hey, look!” Clay whipped around at the sound of Sapnap’s surprised cry. Immediately, he spotted the silver care package slowly drifting through the hole in the glass wall, the most welcoming sight he had ever seen. Quicky, all of them dashed for the package. _It’s medicine to cure George,_ Clay thought. It had to be. There wasn’t anything else it could be. 

They reached the delivery just as it landed quietly on the ground. His spirit ebbed a little as he saw the size of the package. The bundle was big, bigger than what was necessary for just some cure or drugs. By silent consensus, Clay stepped forward and with trembling fingers, undid the knot. 

Instead of medicine, which he had hoped for, there was a neat pile of folded blankets. The blankets weren’t very thick but Clay knew from back home that the material it was made of would reflect body heat and preserve it. It was a rather expensive luxury that his family couldn't afford. But right now, this was the last thing he wanted. 

“What the hell is this?” he growled, pawing through the pile of blankets to find if there was anything hidden in there. Rage and helplessness mixed in his stomach, churning wildly. “Why the hell did they just send us blankets? That’s not what we need right now!” His search came up fruitless, fueling his anger. “This is useless!” 

“No!” Karl quickly grabbed the blankets, looking at them with a newfound light in his eyes. “This is perfect! We can use these to cure George!” He gathered up the scattered duvets and carried them over to George’s prone figure against the wall. 

“What do you mean?” Niki demanded as they followed the boy. “How can some blankets help George?” 

“You see how he's already sweating right now even though it’s not very hot in here? That’s his body’s urge to drain the toxins in him by purging them through his sweat. We can use these covers to make him sweat even faster,” Karl explained. “If we wrap these heat-insulating blankets around him, he’ll start sweating like crazy and the poison will be drained out along with the sweat. And eventually, he’ll wake up. One of the trainers told me about this back at the Capitol,” He turned to them, a determined and confident glow in his eyes. “I promise you, this works. It might be the only option we have to save George.” 

Without hesitation, they started to work as fast as they could in bundling George in as much heat as possible. Sapnap had the brilliant idea to build up a fire next to the brunette to produce more heat. Eventually, they were done, leaving George in a cocoon of blankets. 

Clay leaned against the wall next to George as he tended to his own numerous injuries. He cleaned out the abrasions on his arms from Techno’s sword and with Sapnap’s help, wrapped them up, along with the massive bruise on his face. “There you go,” Sapnap said as he placed the roll of bandages back into the medkit. “That’s the most we can do for now.” 

“Thanks.” Clay looked down at the figure in the cocoon of blankets lying next to him. George’s head poked out of the mass while the rest of him was covered completely. The flickering flames danced over his pale face, glinting off the sweat coating it. Subconsciously, he smoothed back George’s plastered hair, brushing his fingers against his forehead. The brunette’s breathing was still labored and uneven but Clay hoped that they would see some improvement soon. 

“You should eat something,” Niki said, handing him a tin can of beets from their supplies. He took the offering with a murmured thanks. The events of the day had left him exhausted, from the desperate run to the pond, to the brutal fight with Techno, to all the stress and helplessness he had felt. He wanted nothing more than to simply sleep now, content in the knowledge that George was right beside him, however distant he was. Against his will, his mind replayed the words Techno had spat at him. 

_A sheathed blade protects no one, much less those you want to save._

The words had hit him harder than he wanted to admit. Protecting others was what he did, whether it was strangers or his friends. No matter what, he would never let any of his loved ones be harmed. He didn’t care if it was a single person or the Capitol itself, he’ll protect those under his care. But now he wondered if that was simply his hubris and arrogance speaking. 

_If you really want to protect your friends, then get rid of whatever idealistic morals you have. Kill or be killed. That's your reality now, whether you like it or not._

The worst fear he had wasn’t of his own death, it was watching his loved ones die. The knowledge that they, if they die, would never move again, never breathe, never smile, crushed him like a bug. He couldn’t let that happen. He would never allow that. But would he kill others to protect? Uncertainty and revulsion warred inside of him until his emotions and thoughts left him drained and even more tired than before. 

_When the time comes_ , Clay asked himself as he watched the sky darken outside, _will I be able to protect anyone_?

\----|}{|----

It felt like an endless amount of time when George felt himself resurface above the dark waters of his nightmare. The first thing he felt was an intense, almost suffocating heat in his body. It felt as if there was a hot burning metal rod coiled around his lungs, stealing all the breath from his body. Instinctively, he started to fidget, to get away from the sensation, though it clung to him stubbornly. 

“George, stop moving! I’ll get you out!” A distantly familiar voice floated into his mind and he stopped his fidgeting. Almost immediately, the scorching heat dissipated, replaced with cool soothing air. “George! Open your eyes!” 

Slowly, George opened his stiff eyelids, only to be blinded instantly by sunlight. It took another minute or so before he could blink the spots out of his vision. When he could finally see again, the first thing he registered was Sapnap’s face. 

“Are you okay?” the boy asked anxiously. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like shit,” George croaked, his throat painfully dry. “Can I get some water?” 

“Yeah, let me grab some!” Sapnap dashed off, off to somewhere where he couldn’t see. George looked to his left to see Niki looking down at him in exhausted relief. 

“You’re really awake,” she breathed. “So you know how worried we were, George?” He opened his mouth to reply through his cracked tongue but she quickly shushed him. “No, don’t talk now. You’re severely dehydrated and you need water before anything else.” Sapnap tottered back into his vision, holding out a canteen of water. 

George took the offered container and he chugged the liquid inside. At that moment, he had never tasted anything more delectable and delicious in his life. His mouth no longer felt like he had been gargling sand, instead delightfully moist and clean. He didn’t stop until the entire canteen was empty. 

“Feeling better?” Niki asked. 

“Much.” Now that he had some liquid in his body, his mind felt much sharper and clear. He took his first good look at his surroundings, just to make sense of how he had ended where he was. The last thing he remembered was the excruciating agony in his body before collapsing into the pond. “How did you guys find me? What happened? How long was I out for?” 

Between Niki and Sapnap, the two explained what had happened when he had been unconscious, starting with when they found him at the pond. “It’s been two days since then,” Niki finished. 

“Where’s Clay?” he asked, the question itching to be asked ever since they had started talking. The blonde’s absence bothered him, making him restless. “I don’t see him.” 

“He’s out hunting,” Sapnap replied. The smaller brunette had been practically glued to him ever since he waked up, sitting right up next to him. George didn’t mind though. It was a nice feeling to have someone like Sapnap, a younger-brother figure to him, care so much for him. “He should be back soon. Speaking of which, we need to ask you something.”

An unfamiliar boy stepped forward. George didn’t recognize him, but he assumed it was someone his friends had rescued or helped somewhere along the way. He was just about to ask who the boy was himself but was cut off by the stranger. “I’m Karl Jacobs, District 5. I’m sure you remember me when you promised to be my ally, right?” 

For a moment George was confused, unaware he had made any alliances outside of his group of friends until he remembered what Phil had told him. “Oh yeah, I remember,” he replied. This was the boy who he would with work to construct the key part of the plan. “Nice to see you’ve made it through everything.” 

Karl gave a bittersweet smile in return. “Of course. I’m not dying before I cash in your promise.” 

“Did you guys get my bag from the pond?” George turned to Niki and Sapnap, who nodded. He handed over George’s bag, who immediately dug through it to make sure the computer was still in there. To his relief, it still was. 

“You’re lucky the bag was waterproof,” Niki said, pointing at his backpack. “If it wasn’t, your computer would’ve been toast.” 

“Yeah. That wouldn’t be good.” All of a sudden, a loud thump rang out behind George, and quickly, fast enough to get whiplash, he whipped around, fearing an attack. His hand darted to his belt for his knife but then stopped when he saw who it was. 

Clay stood in the doorway to the stairwell still as a statue, his mouth open in shock. The rabbit he had been carrying was on the floor, long-forgotten. “George,” he breathed. “You’re awake.” 

“Yeah.” George’s voice dropped, taking on a rough quality. Clay’s face was thinner than he remembered and he was sporting several bandages around his arms and face. But even with all these changes, the vibrancy of his emerald green eyes hadn’t changed at all. Without thinking, George jumped up and he threw himself into Clay’s arms, clutching the fabric of his jacket desperately. Clay’s arms instantly came around him, enclosing him in a tight hug, so tight as if he would never let George go. He could feel the emotions built up from the previous days rise inside of him, all the despair, the hope, the longing. “I’m back,” he whispered. 

“You’re back,” Clay repeated into his shoulder, arms digging into his back. His usually cheerful voice was thick with emotions. “You’re actually back.”

It took a few minutes for both of them to calm down and let each other go. They joined the rest of their friends, who gave them knowing and tolerant smiles. Clay placed the rabbit he had caught onto a spit to roast over the fire, sneaking glances over at George as if he couldn’t believe he was here. George smiled secretly to himself, unwilling to reveal just how content the gesture made him feel. He would be happy to simply spend the rest of the day, sitting next to the blonde watching his hands work over the fire. 

But, he also had a job to complete and information to gather. “How many tributes are left now?” he asked Niki. 

“Twelve,” she replied. “On the day you passed out, District 2’s girl, District 4’s guy, and District 12’s girl died. The Careers were killed by Techno, who also messed up Clay’s face pretty badly and the girl from District 12 was the one who died in the morning. And the girl from District 10 died yesterday.”

“Oh,” George said in a quiet voice. He glanced at Karl who was sitting next to Sapnap. Their eyes met for a moment, but a spark of understanding passed between them. Both of them knew what was at stake in this game and what both of them were expected to do. _It was a relief,_ George thought as Clay passed him a rabbit leg, _to have someone who he didn’t need to hide from here._

Night fell quickly and George insisted on taking the first watch, saying that he was well-rested from sleeping for three days. Niki stamped out the remains of their fire, the only source of light now the rising moon. George sat down in a spot near the stairwell, right in front of the hole in the window wall. Soon, the light breathing from his friends filled in the otherwise silence, mixing with the playing anthem. 

Twelve down within the span of four days. The number of tributes had dropped rapidly, much quicker than he had hoped. Now, the encounters between tributes would become rarer and soon, the Gamemakers would release whatever horrors they had prepared. He and Karl would need to start working right away on the EMP while they still had this little grace period. They needed to end this soon before the Games would claim one of them. 

His quiet vigil, thankfully, was uneventful. Below, he could hear the sounds of the roaming zombies though he knew, from Sapnap, that they wouldn’t come near the buildings for whatever reason. The unnatural chill from the venom still lingered in his body, seeping deep down in his bones. His mind was still clear of fatigue and he resolved to take the watch for the entire night to give his friends a peaceful night’s rest while they could. 

A shuffling sound from the sleeping mass made him look over quickly and he saw a familiar tall figure extract himself from the pile of bodies. “You should go to sleep, George,” Clay said, walking over. “I can take over.” 

“‘M not tired,” George mumbled in reply. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep now.” 

“Me neither,” Clay said. “It’s hard to sleep, knowing that one of us could die at any given moment.”

“What, you don’t trust me to keep you safe?” George asked, half-joking. 

Clay rolled his eyes and sat down next to him. “You know that’s not what I mean.” His hands crept toward George’s hesitantly, a clear invitation. George accepted and laced their fingers together, feeling small fireworks erupt under his skin as he felt Clay’s calloused palm in his. “Jeez, your fingers are freezing.” The blonde started to methodically rub his hands together, working some warmth into them. “Better?” 

George hummed in reply, feeling his heart speed up at the kind and intimate gesture. All of this just reminded him how unused he was to this, whatever he had with Clay. He couldn’t call this a relationship, considering where they were now but it felt so much more than just friends. 

“I’m glad we found you,” Clay blurted out, breaking the silence. “Not knowing if you were okay or not was driving me insane. And Sapnap and Niki too. We looked for you for so long and when we did find you, you couldn’t wake up. You were here but you weren’t.” His grip on George’s hand tightened. “And I hated every second of it.” 

“But now I’m here,” George replied, looking up into the blonde’s eyes. “I’m here right in front of you. So what are you going to do?” 

“This.” Without warning, Clay leaned down, and for the second time, kissed him. His movements were tentative, full of uncertainty as if he didn’t know how far he could push the boundary as if he was waiting for George to pull away again. But this time, George had no more intention of running. 

He deepened the kiss, pushing himself more forward into Clay. Their lips moved against one another's, dancing together in passion and something deeper that George was afraid to name. When they pulled away, he could feel the blush on his own face radiating heat in the chilly night air. "You do realize we probably just made out in front of the entire country, right?" he whispered in a cracked voice. 

"Don't care," Clay replied, a wide grin on his face. His freckles stood out on his cheeks even in the dim moonlight and George felt the irrational urge to brush his fingers over them and kiss them. "As long as you're here, there will always be a tomorrow I can live for." 

"A tomorrow where we can live for together," George said thoughtfully, as the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon. "Sounds like a dream." And, he vowed to himself, as they sat side by side watching the rising dawn, that no matter what happened, he would make that dream a reality. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER! Sweating excessively DOES NOT actually detoxify your body! If you, like me thought it could, then we were both sorely wrong. But for the sake of the story, let's pretend, okay XD? Just wanted to put that out there!  
> As always, leave comments and kudos if you like!


	12. Blast Behind Bond

The next few days felt unrealistically peaceful to George. It was hard to believe that he was actually in the arena, struggling to fight for survival. In their own little hideout, the five of them stuck to themselves, going out periodically to hunt and replenish water and nothing bothered them. It was as if they were in their own little world, untouchable by whatever was going on outside. Logically, he knew he shouldn't allow himself to be lulled into a sense of peace like this. But it hard not to. There had been no casualties since the fourth day nor any attacks by the Gamemakers. He had Niki, Sapnap, Karl, and perhaps most of all, Clay by his side. 

But he knew this peace wouldn't last for much longer. With the last death occurring four days ago, the audience would be getting restless. Sooner or later, they would be forced back into the battlefield, whether they wanted to or not. So while this peace lasted, George took advantage of it to work as fast as he could in completing the vital component to their revolt. 

The first full day after he woke up, George, finally, after days of traveling and overcoming obstacles, cracked open the computer he had used so much effort to get and keep. A small part of him had been consumed with worry over the condition of the computer, despite his friends' assurance. But now he was glad to see that all of its functions were normal. 

Without a doubt, this was the most advanced piece of technology that he had ever touched before in his entire life. Compared to his scratched, old laptop back home, this one was generations beyond what he was used to. But he could work with this. As his friends watched in anticipation. George began his infiltration. 

Just as he had in the gym of the Training Center, he searched for the first layer of defense around the arena's control system. It took a few minutes of searching on the unfamiliar device but eventually, he found it. The holographic screen of his device lit up with a staggering amount of code, numbers, and letters filling his vision. The arena's system was much more well protected than the gym's. Unlike before, he couldn't spot any obvious weakness or holes in the firewall. Each line of code enhanced the defensive strength of the previous lines, boosting the system's barrier. It would be a tough nut to crack, but the servers George had infiltrated before were harder. 

First, he downloaded a custom Parasite he had created before to work at the shield. He doubted that alone would crack the walls instantly but the catch was that the parasite fed off of a server's data, growing just as much as it consumed. It wasn't a perfect bug, though, as it could run into a part of the wall where the barrier was just far too much for it to handle. But it should weaken the first layer of protection enough for him to find a point of access.

As his malware ran its course, he prepared a Drill, a line of code that would focus on a small part of the wall where the protection would be thinnest and smash a hole through. For extra measure, he worked on enhancing the Drill until he was confident that it would be enough.

"What's he doing?" He could hear Sapnap asking Niki behind him. For a moment, George forgot that he wasn't alone, lost in the world where he always found a way without fail. The world where he was strongest. "Is it working?"

"It will," Niki replied. "It doesn't matter whatever George's faces in a computer, he'll find a way in. In the world of code and information, there's no one better than him." 

George checked back on his Parasite and was unsurprised to find it no longer gaining data. It was futilely scratching away at a mass of code, having reached the limit of its ability. But it had burrowed deep back the preliminary layer of protection and that was enough. With a few taps at the keyboard, he transferred the gathered data into his finished Drill. The data would serve as a catalyst to show the nature of the firewall and change the properties of his Drill to better suit it. Finally, after downloading and assimilating all the data, he gave his Drill the go-ahead. 

Immediately, the Drill penetrated the wall where his Parasite had found itself stuck. The shifting lines of the data on his screen told him exactly what he suspected. The Gamemakers were aware of what he was doing and trying to shift the distribution of the firewall's power toward the breach to stop his Drill and repair the damage. It was useless at this point. The data the Drill had received had adapted it to better suit the system's defensive measures. Whatever buffering or virus-wipe they did would just bounce off the Drill's armor. As George watched, the changing of the code sped up and became more desperate, until finally, his screen flashed green and the rows of code faded, signaling he had broken through into the Gamemaker's server. Now he would have the same ability to control the arena as them. 

George couldn't relax, though. The moment he passed through the server portal, he started typing rapidly, his fingers flying across the keyboard. His Drill may have granted him access to the arena's system but it wouldn't mean anything if the Gamemakers simply kicked him off the controls. And if he did lose access the first time, he was sure they would be much warier and prepared now that they knew what he could. He inputted layers and layers of protective firewalls around himself, building up his barrier and defense. With a final command, his firewall formation, what he called the Encroachment Barrier, was finished. 

He had created this firewall using the same principle as the Parasite, in which interacting with it would simply result in losing your own data. If any of the Gamemakers tried to penetrate his firewall and eject him from the system, they would find their own controls being slowly eroded. The downside was that the barrier was fragile but George compensated for that by adding the extra layers of protection around himself. He doubted the Gamemakers were willing to risk losing control of the arena for just a chance to boot him off. 

"It's done," he said, leaning back, taking a deep breath. He turned around to his friends. "I have control of this arena now." 

"Actually?" Clay asked, his expression dubious. "Like you can use this place as the Gamemakers can?" 

Instead of replying, George simply opened up the control interface that he now could access. His screen showed the entirety of the arena, the different terrains, land formation, but most importantly, it showed the location of every camera, microphone, tribute, and trap. He zoomed in on the transparent where there were five pulsing trackers. He could see in the nearby forest a series of blinking lights and he hovered over one that was far enough away, seeing the label "MINE" pop up over his cursor. With a click, he activated the trap. 

Instantly, a loud boom rang out outside the building. All of their heads whipped over to look outside through the hole in the window to see a thick plume of black smoke rising above the forest. Even from this distance, they could see the effects of the explosion in the shattered trees and the dent in the treetops. 

"Holy..." Sapnap's voice trailed off as he stared bug-eyed at the device in George's hands. "That's busted." 

"I've never seen anyone do this before," Karl agreed. "I didn't think anyone had the skills, let alone the guts, to tinker with the Gamemaker's arena." He gave George a shrewd look. "You're really one of a kind, aren't you?" 

"I'll take that as a compliment," George replied with a wry smile. "I'm here for a reason after all, aren't I?" 

"True," Karl said, his mouth twitching at the corners. "It's nice to know you're at least capable." 

George turned back to the computer and he tapped a few keys, pulling up the location of every camera and microphone in their building. There was an absolutely astounding amount in the entire arena, with just their building holding almost four hundred of the devices. With a command, he deactivated all of the ones on their floor, in every possible corner and the stairwell's as well. Now, he and Karl could work on the EMP without fear of blowing their plan. But he couldn't say that was the reason why he did it. "All the cameras are down on this floor now," he told his friends. "I don't know about you guys but I'll like a little privacy." 

"I'm down," Clay said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We've probably been on the screens for a while now. It'll be nice not to have to worry about what we do or say."

"I second that," Niki added, standing from her seat on the floor and stretching. "Now that all that is done, let's go get some food. We shouldn't go out alone anymore now that Techno knows where we are. We're going to need to be more careful from now on."

The following days, George worked with Karl to turn his computer into an EMP. They could only really do it during the night when they took over a watch. Neither of them wanted to reveal just how much they were hiding, unwilling to jeopardize the plan. It was during these hours, in the dark of the night, where George got to know the boy a little better. 

Karl had an impressive knowledge of the way electricity functioned, even for a person from District 5, where the country's energy was created and distributed, considering his age. George could see why the rebels had entrusted this task to him, despite how young he was. But what was driving him to risk his life to do accomplish this? He got his answer on the fourth night. 

"There, if we turn the conduit of the electricity in here down this path, it'll boost the range of the blast when it's activated," Karl explained, as he worked. "It's good that this computer has a battery life that lasts a pretty long time. That should give the EMP more than enough power to do what it needs to do. And you don't need to worry about your computer. Until the EMP is activated, you'll still be able to use all of its functions." For a few minutes, he continued to tap away at the computer in silence. 

"Why are you doing this?" George suddenly asked, breaking the quiet. "Someone with your talent would probably have a bright future in District 5. Why would someone like you risk everything just to help the rebels?" 

"Does it matter?" Karl replied, eyes fixed on the computer screen. 

"Probably not," George admitted. "But I'll feel better if I knew what your motivation is." 

The tapping of the keyboard filled the dark empty room for a minute before Karl replied. "You're right," he said. "I guess it wouldn't do any harm to tell you anyway." He leaned away from the computer, staring out into the black horizon. "When I was ten, my brother died." 

George stayed silent as Karl spilled his story. "Sean was born with a chronic disease that fed off his body's nutrients. The older he grew, the weaker he got. In the early stages when his condition was identified, it was certainly treatable with the medical technology that the Capitol possessed. But our parents didn't have the money to afford the treatment and no matter how much they pleaded, they refused to treat Sean. To raise the funds necessary, they worked themselves to the bone in the power plants for long dangerous hours. It still wasn't enough, though, and at seven years old, Sean succumbed to the disease." The boy took a ragged breath in before continuing. "The fatigue accumulated from working had weakened my mom as well and the shock of his death was the final blow. Crippled by grief, she was bed-ridden for three months before she also died." 

"I swore myself, at her funeral, to pay the Capitol back, to get revenge for what they've done to my family," Karl continued. "I would never forgive them for their willingness to allow an innocent child to suffer and die when it was well within their capacity to help. Driven by anger and hatred, I looked everywhere for anyone willing to help me. And that's how I ended up meeting the resistance. But over time, I realized how selfish I was." He looked up at the dark ceiling, clearly in deep thought. "I only wanted to bring the Capitol down for the sake of my own vengeance. I didn't stop to think about other people, how they had suffered much more than me." It's hard to set aside your own desire for revenge, especially if you've lived years with that burning hatred in your heart. But sometimes you have to think about the bigger picture. In the end, I decided to this, not for my own personal satisfaction but also to make sure something like this would never happen again. I don't ever want to see another family torn apart like that ever again." 

"Even if this doesn't work out?" George asked, lacing his fingers together. "Even if we defeat the Capitol, it's no guarantee that whatever comes next can embody your vision." 

"Then I'll make it," Karl replied instantly. "I'll fight as many times I need to realize it." He gave a small smile. "Besides, I'm putting my life on the line here. The least they could do is humor me a little. What about you then, Mr. Davidson? What is driving _you_ to risk your own life?"

"I don't really have a lofty or noble goal like yours," George said, shuffling in his spot on the floor. "I came in here prepared to die to keep a promise. I expected the fact that I would die. But in the end, it turns out there was more than one person I absolutely could not allow to die." He glanced over at the three sleeping figures of his friends. "I guess, you could say my motivation was to save those I couldn't live without." 

"Isn't it the same for all of us?" Karl responded, turning back to the computer, officially ending their conversation. "Anyway, I have some good news. The EMP is done now." 

"Really?" George shifted over to sit beside the boy, peering at the device. 

"Yep." He pointed at a file on the screen. "When we want to activate the EMP, just click on this file. It'll take a minute or so for it to charge up before releasing all its power but once it does so, this thing is toast. Then again, if we do activate this, hopefully, we won't be needing it again."

"Hopefully," George agreed. He closed the computer carefully and stored it in his bag. "We're going to do this, Karl. We'll make your wish come true, no matter what." 

At his words, Karl pulled a face. "Ugh, this is getting way too sentimental for me, I'm going to sleep." He turned away quickly but not before George saw the smile on the boy's face. "You should get Clay to take over your watch. We're going to need you at your best when the shit hits the fan." 

"Yeah, okay." George walked over to the sleeping mass, shaking Clay awake gently. As he pulled a blanket over himself, he could feel, once again, the weight of his own promises, but also his own conviction.

\----|}{|----

The gleaming white door slid open, attracting the attention of several of the Gamemakers at their stations. One of them, a silver-haired man, marked with the uniform that showed his rank as the Head Gamemaker took one glance at the newcomers and quickly strode over. As he neared, he gave a slight bow.

"President Schlatt," the man said, respectfully. "And Mr. Quackity. How rare to see you here." 

Schlatt gave a nonchalant wave. "Skip the pleasantries, Lorenzo. You, of all people, should know to not waste my time on something so useless." 

"Of course. My apologies, sir." Lorenzo straightened himself from the bow. "Well, seeing as you've come here yourself, President, it must mean you're interested in something."

"You could say so," Schlatt replied. He walked over to the edge of the slight balcony overlooking the map of the arena. "Where are all the remaining tributes located?" 

"Well, let's see here." The Head Gamemaker descended the steps into the main floor right underneath the balcony. "Over in Structure 2, we have the remaining Careers, District 1 and 4 holed up there. They've seemed to have realized that our zombies don't go near the buildings. Closest to them, about three miles away are District 8 and 10. The latest visual shows them moving west." As he talked, the map zoomed on each respective tribute's markers. "District 11 and the female from District 7 are roaming around, with nothing to note from them. District 2 is on the far north edge of the map. For now, he seems to be simply gathering food and resources. And of course, finally, we have the squad of District 3s, 5, 7, and 12's in Structure 8." 

"I want you to shake up that group in Structure 8," Schlatt said bluntly, his eyes narrowed at the cluster of blinking icons. "They've been camping there for days now and we still don't have any visual on them, right?" 

"Yes, sir," Lorenzo replied, ducking his head a bit. "The male tribute from 3 has completely infiltrated our system. We can't turn those cameras he's disabled back on nor could we eject him. He's hasn't touched anything else, though, besides the cameras and microphones." He looked over at the map with a grudging look of admiration. "I've never seen someone with his talent before. It's hard to imagine he's only eighteen. To be honest, I'm hoping he wins so we can recruit him later on. It would be a shame if his talent was lost forever."

"Well, that's only possible if he survives tomorrow." Schlatt gestured to the array of Gamemakers at their stations. "Tomorrow night, prepare something to drive them out of their hideout. It's been days since there's been any action. That group's the perfect target."

"But, sir..." Lorenzo started.

Schlatt's red eyes slowly swiveled over to look into the silver-haired man's. "But what?" he said softly. "Do I need to repeat myself?" 

The Gamemaker face paled and he quickly dipped into a bow. "No, sir, forgive me. I'll get right to it." 

"I know what you want, Lorenzo," Schlatt continued coldly. "You want to spare the boy from District 3, don't you? Talented as he may be, you're forgetting where he is right now. The only way he's getting back here alive is if he has the wits to survive hell." He leaned forward on the balcony, his elbows resting underneath him. "Favoritism and mercy aren't qualities that suit someone in your position, Lorenzo Alleart," he said, his voice taking on a silky yet sinister quality. "Remember, you, as the Head Gamemaker, can die just as easily as any of those tributes if you screw up. I have no qualms about replacing you right now. Is that understood?" 

Even from this distance, Schlatt could see Lorenzo swallow roughly. "I-I understand, sir." Satisfied with his answer, Schlatt dismissed the man to his task. 

"Why are you so insistent about this?" Quackity asked, idly fiddling with his tie. The black-haired man leaned against the side of the balcony, an amused look on his face. "It's not like you to be so obvious about what you want." 

"You act as if you know me so well." Schlatt reached into the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out a long thin cigarette. "Got a light?" 

"Of course." With a flick from his lighter, the interviewer lit the cigarette. "Well, you still haven't answered me."

"You're one annoying son of a bitch, you know," Schlatt grumbled, taking a long drag on the cigar. If anyone else had been this casual and demanding with him, he would've ordered their execution already. But this was Quackity, perhaps the only person he could trust or could even begin to call a friend. Without his help, Schlatt would've never made it to where he was now. "I'm interested, to say the least." 

"In that District 3 boy?" Quackity said, looking over at him. "I'm not surprised. I've never seen anyone quite like him." 

"Not him," Schlatt replied, looking over his shoulder at the screens where the image of each remaining tribute was displayed. "I'm talking about those two, District 7 and 2. I have no interest in those who've never struggled to become stronger. Just by looking at him, I can tell he's always had it easy with his skill." Unconsciously, Schlatt's gaze narrowed into a glare. "Those types of people disgust me." 

"Is this jealousy I'm seeing? From the president of Panem?" 

"Call it what you want." Schlatt turned back. "What I want to see though is how that other one will react. District 7." 

"The one who wouldn't kill? He seemed boring to me." Quackity turned to the screens. "I can understand your interest in that monster District 2 had created but why him?"

"Because he's incomplete," Schlarr replied, blowing out a thin cloud of smoke. "If I had to explain it, District 2 is like a diamond. Tempered by suffering and desperation, strong in all sense of the word, and by all means, unbreakable. He really is one of a kind. Compared to him, District 7 is gold. Strong but fragile. Under the slightest pressure, he'll break." He turned to Quackity with a twisted leer. "Aren't you at least a little interested to see what he'll do if that happens?" 

"Fantasizing about tormenting kids. You're a cruel man, President Schlatt," Quackity said, shaking his head with a knowing smile. "So you'll kill one of his friends to see what he does? How can you be sure Alleart will do that? He seems too fond of them if you ask me." 

"Have I ever claimed to be anything but? And don't worry about Alleart. If he dares to do something as stupid as showing them even a hint of leniency, he knows what will happen to him." Schlatt glanced over his shoulder over at the screens, focusing on the picture of the green-eyed boy. "What will you do, Clay Bryce, when what you've been fighting for is gone? Will you be crushed by your own despair, never to rise again, or seek vengeance against an enemy you can never hope to even touch? Or something else altogether?" He stubbed out his cigarette on the immaculate balcony railing, scattering hot ash over the metal surface, and turned away. "I'll be waiting to see the path you'll create for yourself." 

\----|}{|----

"It's been five days." George looked over at Sapnap, who was sitting by the edge of the hole in the wall. It was currently raining, not heavily but rather a natural amount. "How long do you think this silence is going to last for?" he asked, looking out over the darkened forest. 

"I don't know," George replied, going back to his computer. He was using the numerous camera planted around the arena to see a sense of what was going on but so far he hadn't detected anything worth noting. "I'm hoping we'll get a few more days to rest but I guess anything could happen at this point."

"I don't think we're going to have a few days," Sapnap said, his face uncharacteristically somber. "I have a feeling we're going to be in trouble soon." 

George didn't respond but he knew what Sapnap was talking about. The peace had taken on an eerie quality as if the air was holding its breath in anticipation of something. They've had five days of this solitude but it looked like their time was up. He powered down his computer and placed it carefully back into his bag. "Well, no use worrying about it now," he told Sapnap, ruffling his hair as he stood up, to the smaller boy's complaint. "All we can do is stay alert and be as ready as possible."

"Food's ready, you guys!" Niki called over by the fire. "Come and get some." 

There was no talk as the group sat down to eat. Thankfully, animals were plentiful in the forest so they were able to stay going without having to break into the stores of preserved food in the supplies they've gathered from the Temple. But slowly, day by day, it was becoming harder and harder to find animals. 

"I think the Gamemakers are preparing for the feast now," Clay said after they were done cleaning up. "I could barely find three rabbits today and my snares aren't turning anything up anymore." 

"We'll need to be ready then," Karl replied. "We need to make sure everything is secure so we can run at a moment's notice." 

"Seconded," George agreed. "Who wants to take first watch?" 

"I'll take it," Sapnap volunteered. "I wouldn't be able to sleep with the rain tapping on the roof anyway." 

"I can watch with you," Clay added, standing up and stretching. "I'm not that tired." 

"Sure." As the two set up over by the staircase, George, Niki, and Karl settled to grab what sleep they could. The past few days of volunteering for watches with Karl to work on their EMP were catching up to him and his mind had become a little fuzzy. Before he went to sleep though, he packed up all the supplies he had, making extra sure his computer was secure. With that done, he allowed himself to lean against the side of a wall with a blanket over him and went out like a light. 

It felt like only minutes had passed when suddenly a hand was roughly shaking him awake. "George, get up now!" Clay's alarmed voice penetrated into his sleep and his eyes quickly snapped opened, trying to register the threat. 

"Wha..." He was barely functioning after being forcibly pulled out of his sleep and he could see in the dim moonlight Sapnap shaking Niki and Karl awake as well. The pattering of the rain had stopped now, his brain registered in the back on his mind. "What's going on?" 

"We need to leave now," Clay said. "There's something in thsi building, surronding us." 

That was all he needed to hear. Quickly, George jumped to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He tosed the blanket to the side, knowing that they'll have to leave them behind for the sake of mobility. Niki and Karl were now also awake, albet a little shaky on their feet. 

Clay led the way to the staircase, his ax in his hand. "We need to get out of this building, even if it means we run into those zombies outside. Sapnap and I heard scrtaching and hissing from the floors above and below us and something was shaking the building too. I don't know what it is but I know we defintly don't want to meet it." 

Quietly, the group descended the stairs. George's ears were strained to their limits to pick up any sounds that didn't belong and he could hear the slight hissing of whatever creatures had been relased into their hideout. The sound was unlike anything he had ever heard before, like a distorted version of crackling fire. As they reached the landing of the second floor stairway, Clay suddenly stopped, causing George to run into his back. "Oh shit." 

George looked over Clay's broad shoudler and felt his stomach drop. Where there should've been a intact stariway was now a mess of rubble and cracked stone. Somehow, and George suspected the shaking Clay mentioned, the Gamemakers had discreetly collapsed the stairs. There was no way they were getting down to the first floor that way. 

"There's another stairway on the other end of this floor," Sapnap said quickly as they took in the wreckage. "If we go through the room to the other side, we can see if we can get out that way." 

There wasn't any other option but to rely on that hope. The hissing above was getting more aggreesive and closer as if the mutts were closing in on them. "We can't stay here and wait for them to catch up," George said. "Let's go."

They quickly ran through the entrance and into the dark of thesecond floor room. Unlike the spacious fourth floor, this floor had some abandoned desks, half rotted chairs and rusted cabinets. It was quite a long way to the other side of the room and George felt the itch of apprehension taking hold of him again. He caught himself looking cautiously into the darkness and as a result, fell behind to run next to Karl. 

"Still got the computer?" Karl asked, panting from the effort of running. 

"Still got it," George replied shortly. "I don't like this. It feels too quiet here." 

"George, Karl, hurry up," Clay whispered loudly. The gap between them and the other three had widened now, leaving a few meters between them. "Don't fall behind."

George sped up, in an effort to close the distance and he could see Karl do the same beside him until suddenly, he dropped out of George's view. George's heart skipped a few beats as he whipped around, drawing his knife, sure that whatever was chasing them had caught up and had taken its first victim. "Karl!" 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the boy quickly said, sprawled across the floor. "I just tripped." 

Before George could respond, the dreaded sound of hissing started up again, except this time it was much closer and a pair of red eyes ignited in the gloom behind Karl. "Karl, behind you!" 

The brunette whipped around, still on the ground. The creature stepped further into the moonlight shining in from the window revealing its green body. Beofre any of them could do anything, its body started to expand, swelling up like a ballon as its hissing intensifed.

A metallic blur whizzed over George's shoulder, carving its way through the air before sinking into the body of the creature, cutting off it's hissing adruptly. The mutt stopped inflating and promptly toppled over onto the ground, the knife sticking out of its body. George looked back to see Niki's arm extended in a knife-throwing poisiton. 

"Are you guys okay?" Clay quickly ran over to George and Karl, panic on his face. 

"I'm okay," George quickly replied, kneeling down to help Karl up. The boy was still trembling from his close call and George couldn't blame him. 

"What is that thing?" Karl whispered, staring at the body of the mutt. It was truly disgusting, mottled green with a disformed head and a long thick body that ended into fourn stunted feet. It's mouth was open in a snarl and George shuddered to think what it would've done if Niki's knife hadn't killed it. 

"We'll worry about it later," Clay said, his head whipping around to scan their surroundings. "Let's get out before more of those things show up." 

George helped Karl to his feet until he heard the boy give a gasp of pain and George felt a suddent resistance. All three of them quickly looked down, to see the source of the problem. 

The mutt's jaws were fasten aorund Karl's ankle and its crimson eyes were sparking maliciously. In horror, George watched as it began to infalte once again. 

Karl's hand quickly shot out to shove him, pushing George away from him. "Get away!" he screamed. "You need to survive!" 

"KARL!" George bellowed. Before he could do anything like run back to the boy, Clay tackled him, pulling both of them further away. "NO!" 

The brunnette's mouth opened again to frame one word, a word that George would never hear as a explosion tore through the air, consuming Karl in a ball of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, our first death.  
> For clarification, if you didn't already know, that mutt was a creeper. Not something you want to sneak up behind you.  
> As always, I appreciate it if you leave kudos and comments. I'll try to respond to them if I find something creative to say!


End file.
